Pacific Synthetic

Draining the hour away, she took a three o’clock bath. The sun brightened the glass block window to an opaque sheen. The “Pacific sea salts” dissolved from rock to sand under her tired legs. The water gushed into a foam cloud. Green. The water was a fluorescent green; the steam, a scent of green apples. She read the canister before she poured the entire contents. Natural Pacific salts. Natural oils. Natural color. Fluorescent green?

Don’t lie to me! You loved me, and you know it. You said it more than a dozen times as you drowned me in the silk of your blond hair, devoured me with the perfect half-ovate solidity of your teeth, flooded me with your persuasive hands; your intrusive, knowing touch.

I gave into your fable of lovers union. I accepted your trade fair art of affection. I believed in your poetry; I thrilled in every leaned in kiss among the traffic of straights. I anticipated the late night escapes into the woods, into the city haze, into your music, into the depths of our bodies. I remained, in situ, in waiting, in hope for your touch while the world streamed by. You welcomed my stillness; the lock on your chain. You had me waiting by my back steps for your metallic blue jeep; waiting another hour; another week until you broke the chain going a hundred miles away as if...as though...I was unchainable.

I sought distractions. I spoke with fortunetellers, hoping they could give me some clues to your evaporation; to my carried out to sea. They clued me in on what you were, what you were doing...where you might be.

Sacrificed for fallacious dreams? Dumped for devoid of responsibility? By my expressions of fidelity? My emotional devotion? My honesty? Your whim?

Does not matter. Just wipe your slate clean and get yourself together. We’ve all been there. We’ve all been used. We've all….nothing is ever new.

She had shut off the water some time ago. The bath was an insular chill. The scent of apples was no longer valid. She rose from the tub and reached for her towel; fluorescent green dripped from her arm onto the tiled floor. She clutched the towel against her breasts and leaned over the water. With a flick of the knob, she drained the Pacific synthetic.