On keeping a healthy distance.
I’ve washed him off my body countless times, but somehow the stench always creeps back. Sometimes I’m walking down the street and I stop dead in my tracks wondering what that all too familiar odour is. Last Thursday I woke up to the scent of an old friend’s freshly washed hair, but it soon turned sour with the scent of him. This time I feel like I peeled back my skin, inch by inch, meticulously stripping it from my muscles and laid it down carefully folded in front of me. I lit it on fire — it was quite a sight. I warmed my hands over the embers, thinking “Maybe this time it’ll take.”
I think it took.