Held in the Cold Water

The water has gone cold, but you are still standing there. Too tired to wash, too heavy to move, just letting the stream hit your back while the noise covers the sound of your crying.

This is the exhale—the moment the armor finally drops and the truth of how much you are carrying floods the small tiled room. You do not need to scrub yourself clean tonight.

You do not need to fix the weariness before you step out. The light does not require you to be warm, or dry, or composed.

It is right here in the shiver, in the steam, in the tears that you thought you had to hide. You are not being judged for standing still.

You are being held in the cold. The washing can wait.

The only thing that matters is that you are here, and you are not alone in the noise.