I'm sitting on the tiles.
The cold hits my bones.
I've been coming back here for a while.
Three years to be exact.
I would do anything, to turn the water on.
Let it run.
As I fade off into the distance.
Will I fade away for you?
Will you remember me as this image?
. . . or a happier one?
A more beautiful one.
The one I was three years ago?
I'm too weak to move from this spot.
Too weak, too frail.
I'll let my face rest on the porcelain.
I'm done punishing myself, for now.
Until my will power is low again.
This time, I am too weak to move from this spot.
Too weak, too frail.
I'm sitting on the floor tiles.
The cold hits my convex bones.
And goose bumps appear on my concave skin.
I would do anything, to turn the water on.
Let it run.
As I fade off into the distance.
Where you will see me, someday.
As a more beautiful image.
