Shrine

Still groggy, I stumbled into the bathroom to prepare myself for the day. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Scrub. Spit. That's when I saw them.

You must have shaved this morning, because there are tiny hairs all over my tap. Tiny, dark hairs. Your tiny, coarse, dark hairs.

About to wipe them away, I stopped myself. Studied them a little more closely. They never looked that dark on your face.

Let them stay there a while longer. Be part of the apartment. Like having you here.

Maybe I could collect them. Seal them in a mason jar. Light a candle. A shrine of sorts.

Kidding.

Maybe.