My finger etches my name and the door cries with every stroke. As the water descends my writing fogs and disappears. erasing all evidence of me and my crimes against the glass. Only to be replaced with more tears, but not from me. I cannot cause this much sadness. It's caused from the water falling from the shower head. Not satisfied with staying on the ground, drops jump onto the clear surface creating more lines of tears than the fog can erase. Until soon, I'm not looking at a clear glass door, I'm looking at lines obscuring my view of the world on the other side.
