Pseudo-Reliance

The blue soap bar smelled familiar today. Of childhood, the discontinued one. I believed they had stopped making them, untimely. Does it make sense? To return unannounced?

The building across my room is never lit altogether. The blind rooms, scattered across the concrete, look similar.

Unanticipated participation on the quiet course I had chosen, the blue soap stood like a catastrophe invite. I sat there, paralyzed, watching all the deep-sheltered memories sit upright on my chest, the evil smirked.

I hold the key, firmly, closer to my chest. Now immersed within my heart, I am left feeling a solid pang, with every throbbing beat as the steel stikes my skin from beneath. It makes my back arch in pain. I stumble looking for support, then clasp your shoulder, tighter than needed. I have been loving relying on you recently, for all those small tidbits I could never learn.

My love language, perhaps? Stepping out of the confinement, I breathe a calmer breeze, the toddler who bathed with the blue soap does, as well. I thank you for letting me lean on you.

Somehow, the distance still seems impassable, between us. Like the blind rooms in the half-lit tower, I too, fail to reveal the light, altogether.