A hand print left on the steamed up glass door of my shower. It stayed just for a moment, and then quickly filled up until you couldn’t see it anymore. But it stayed there, just like the pain.

The next day when I took a shower, the room is filled once more with mist. There it was again, that hand print that had greeted me for the past 4 weeks. I placed my hand within the print, barely filling it at all.

I sat down, trying to let my pain wash off me. Instead, it just sank in further. No matter how much I scrubbed myself it never left. Grief is an odour that lingers forever.

The next day, I don’t shower.

I pick up a cloth and a bottle of spray. The glass sparkles. It is a clean slate.

Two days later, I gather the courage to enter the glass tank, I stare. The mist fills in, the surfaces cloud. It is gone. The pain remains. Just not as sharp.

I decide to open the window when I next shower.