Things That are Promised - December 28, 2010

I can still smell the scent of your mint shampoo from the ring of soap scum in the bathtub of the bathroom you promised to clean. It’s gone untidy and neglected these days. I’m not waiting for you to reappear or be resurrected to clean the room, I just much rather like that the whiskers from your chin are still scattered around the sink and your used towels sitting in piles on the floor. When the lights are out, they look like soft, fabric mountains coming out of the tile. The bathroom is a testament to how long I can keep you until you become a was or a used to be. I think I will leave it in this state for awhile. When my wounds finally heal over, mould will sprout from the left-over dampness on those towels. That is how long it will take, I am sure. I wish I could embalm this place so that it becomes a mausoleum, because nothing could project our lives any better than these matching toothbrushes of ours, these mismatched bottles of soap and salts, these tubes of lipstick nestled beside your aftershave. I know, though, despite wishful thinking and the fantasy of being a hermit in this room forever, soon these items will disappear. They are here for the time being…and I do like to close my eyes and imagine you are coming home with rubber gloves and bleach to clean this untidiness away because you promised to.
    Above all these messes and monuments, I like the smell of your mint shampoo the most
 

-Kortnee Tilson