10.13.21 depressive episode at (now ex) bfs house

I stared at the labels of two similar-looking bottles under your sink and realized I could not read. Figuring I still had a fifty percent chance of success, I poured one of them into your dishwasher. It was soap. Fuck. The bubbles put me in a trance as they oozed from every edge of the dishwasher into your floorboards. What if there was a universe inside each one, and everything would be better if I just melted into one of those tiny little worlds? You'd wonder where your girlfriend went. You'd go through each of the five stages of grief for a respectful amount of time. But you'd also feel a sense of relief, maybe coupled with some guilt? I feel guilty about my whole stupid life right now, and fucking up your dishes is just a drop in the ocean. Sorry. I continued to watch iridescent peaks of soap film shimmer and sway in my hands, amazed that something so fragile could still hold its shape.