I sink deep down in a warm bath.
My ears covered, the foam bubbles
muffle the sound of your yell.
 
You've been home for five minutes,
soaking our walls with a stench I can't get rid of.
Like the resonating sound of our silenced opinions.
 
In the water I feel safe, I can let my body rest.
My mind goes to a million places
but at least it doesn't go to you.
 
Tired, I open my eyes. Troubled
vision underwater, I can still see
your mouth move. Your arms swing up and down.
 
I compare you to my stillness.
I do all I can so as not to move.
I do not want to be your mirror,
              which means I do not breathe either.
 
I muse the thought of developing gills
right at this moment.              I smile
My mind stays here while your face disappears.
A blurred memory, a shrinking image.
 
In this darkening picture, I float.
You're gone, and I could swim away
If I had gills.