Here is the one time I will use a wide toothed comb through all my kinks and my knots. Some shed strands fly off onto the white tiled walls, while some fly down -- spiraling down, as if freediving mid-air -- to the drain, where they all seem to unite. Shampoo, condition, soap ****, dead skin, impure thoughts and actions clutter around the drain, eager to rub each other. As eager as the thousands and millions of water atoms that hit me like pebbles hitting a well; I see it every time I look into the eyes of the shower head. It’s all I need to keep going, detangling. I still need more conditioner, more slip. The water likes to take the conditioner and travel from my hair to my neck, draping down from shoulders like a robe. Before the conditioner and soap can wind down into just memories of the Old Me, the steam, like an old friend, covers me in their veil. The steam covers the window in a smoke screen, shielding me from the Moon’s eyes, and the Star’s views. The wind can’t hurt me in these tiled walls; but this means the walls can see me. My skin, it blushes, and looks away, shyly continuing. My skin reminisces to more good times, when I’m held in this small cradle of a tub. The water and soap bubbles are my blankets, the loofah and the sponge are my pillows. I keep the lights off so that no one has that obnoxious gleam in their eyes while we all rest. The vents hum lowly, so not to wake the huddled curtains. Yet, when I get out of bed, I stretch, and I anticipate the sunrise of the water to spray watershine to jolt my body awake. When I am awake, I let the vents follow, I let the world see. I make the water hotter but then I make it colder, never letting the hues from the water slip from my mind. For I know, meditation and water are wedded forever.
catch the title's reference?