Institutional Soap
You know the one that stinks of cherry — Fake sweet The kind That doesn't quite convince… I stretched my smile Until the corners frayed Like split ends twisted into the same bun. You came to visit, so I brought myself to shower. I could not meet your eyes. Looking at you makes it harder. We don't hug— that's not something we do here. But you hold my hand, Your thumb moving across my knuckles, Until the words come.
Wow, my friend. Brilliant. You came to visit, so I brought myself to shower. I had to stop there. That one line holds the whole weight of what it is to be loved through the hardest season. Not the performing of wellness. The smallest possible act of showing up, for someone else's sake, because they came. The institutional soap doing so much work from the very beginning. Fake sweet. The kind that doesn't quite convince. And the smile stretched until the corners frayed like split ends. The body giving away what the mouth won't say. And then the ending. No words, no eye contact, just a thumb moving across knuckles until the words come. That is what love looks like when everything else has been stripped away. Not grand. Just present. Just patient. This is devastating in the quietest way. MashaAllāh, my friend. 🥰🥺❤️🫶🏻✨️🕊🌹