I’m a jacket with Velcro closures, stuffed into an over packed front load washer. A detergent of Do The Right Thing carefully measured, poured atop. Fabric softener skipped, we’re cutting back on household expenses.
This damn washer screams a piercing beeeeeeeeep, at the end of every cycle. Okay, okay, I hear you.
Pulled out, heaved in to the dryer above. Stuck to me- the sock, the scarf, all of the soft things. The tear of fibers enmeshed akin to nails on a chalk board. Torn apart, heaved and hung. I’ll dry out. I’ll keep you warm then.
And you’ll breath in the soothing scent of the freshly laundered made even sweeter, because you didn’t do the washing.
Today I was reminded that the spoken and written word are always open to interpretation. Try not to be too attached to them. Let them from your fingers and lips freely. Hush your ego when it want’s to jump to their defense. Those words are no longer yours, they live outside of you. Just observe.