The white terry cloth wrap that you would use after showering remains the last item of yours that gets packed away. Perhaps it is because it hangs on the back of a door that I never close - out of sight, out of mind. Perhaps it is because I want to leave some secret reminder of you - a corner where a piece of you can hang undisturbed like a memory of you that I can always hold in the corner of my mind. The wrap hangs there and it still holds your scent. I have from time to time, during sleepless nights, or when a twisting ache takes me in the chest, swung the door so that I can bury my face into the folds of the cloth. I have let you fill me once again as I stand barefooted on the cold black and white tiles. I have let you fill me before going back to bedsheets soaked with my sweat. I have let you fill me and I cannot tell you if it a happiness or a torture - it feels like both. This morning I thought that I might pack away your wrap. I thought that I would hide it away with your shampoos and conditionioners; with your hair dryer and curling iron; with your slippers. I thought that I would pack the wrap away and hope that I will be unpacking everything someday. After removing the wrap from it's hook I shook it so as to fluff it before folding it away. This was done over the tub to catch any dust that might fall - and there it was... a single strand of brown curl. I used to find your hair everwhere - tub, sink, floor, pillow, couch. I could sweep and 10 minutes later find more. Oh - I am not complaining! I loved finding traces of you everywhere and at the most unexpected times. I stared into the tub at this single strand of your fallen hair and I was struck.
I turned from the tub, leaving it just as it was, and returned your wrap to the hook - its rightful place. I will leave the wrap there. It waits for you.
Just me.
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