Stardust

39

showers, metaphors, and a whole lot of i love yous

when i think of running showers, my mind turns to sun-kissed afternoons in my childhood—years painted with memories of showering with my sister or female friends, giggling in between drizzling water and bubble baths. it was an intimacy i only shared to few people, kinswomen i confided in, who lacked no judgment seeing me for who i am—far from the thin-stick frames of models seen in magazines, areas darker than some, flawed in my humanity.

never did i ever think to get into the shower with someone other than a woman i trusted, and yet, i found myself here in front of you clothesless—hair down in a frenzy, skin drenched in water. i had become a dame stripped off of her armor, entrusting you her bare vulnerability. and yet you looked at me with kind, childlike eyes, stepping inside the stall and joining me under the sprinkle. and for a moment, i am reminded of why i invited you into the shower in the first place.

you may not be a kinswoman, far from my sister or my chicas, but you have held the title of my best friend for a dozen years now—earning your badge to share an intimate bath with me, the same way i have done with my close female colleagues.

as i lather soap in between the blades of your shoulders, you sweep your fingers across my damp collarbone—no different from when you'd swipe my tears with your thumb—gentle, full of warmth and love.

by the time you've asked me to turn around and scrub my back with the sponge, i realize that while this might be the first time i lay myself bare for you to clean, it isn't our first rodeo to share in each other's nakedness. from listening to one another's intrusive thoughts in the wee hours of the morning, to psychoanalyzing both our family dynamics and past relationship traumas, i can effortlessly trace the roots of your fears as much as i trace the freckles on your face. and you, the same, in how you easily recall which places make me sigh in pleasure, as easy as you know the things that keep me up at night.

and as we pull each other closer in the shower, skin to skin, warmth under the cold, i let the droplets drizzle on our flesh like the crash of waves on the shore. though i have shared past few baths with other trusted females in my life, nothing could ever come as close to the intimacy of this wash with you. this shower is the final nail to break any walls we had put through—a love letter more vulnerable than the phrase, "i love you."

and that says a lot, because i do. i have years and years of never-ending heart for you. so here's to many more showers, metaphors, and a whole lot of i love yous.