Bubble Bath

I climbed into a bubble bath to forget my worries, but as I sit here with the scent of white tea and jasmine surrounding the sounds of bubbles popping, I'm left with my thoughts and the TV playing in the living room. I'd poured myself a glass of cheap wine that sits of the edge sweating, waiting to be sipped or knocked over. I used a fluted tea glass because I wine glass can't hold all my sorrows today. The wine tastes like shit, but tastes like berries if I don't sniff it.

Last time I laid here I watched you shave and we laughed together over something insignificant until tears ran from my eyes. You peeked past the clear shower curtain and joked about what you would do if this bathtub could fit two. I could smell your shaving cream and my soap and the soda you drank between razor strokes.

I washed that memory away with more wine and ducked my head under the water to to fill my ears with suds instead of the lingering echo of canned laughter from the TV.