An Open Letter to That What Lives Behind The Shower Curtain

Sometimes I hear your breathing.

Usually, it’s when I’m washing my face, the cold water running in rivulets down my skin, my eyes shut to protect them from the pain.

My senses are heightened, then, every nerve on guard for what else could hurt me.

That is when I hear it.

Your breathing.

When I go to check, pulling back the shower curtain, my face dried off, leaving the freshness that only cleaning can bring behind, you aren’t there.

You are gone.

It is as if you only exist sometimes.

When my face is being washed clean, like a baptism of sorts.

When I am at my most vulnerable; shirtless and sightless.

When there is everything and nothing on my mind.

I wonder what I am to you.

Am I a thought in your mind?

Something you are unsure of?

Do you sometimes hear the splashing of water and think about pulling back the curtain?

Why do you not?

Am I brave for doing so and you a coward for not?

Or is my action cowardice exemplified and your lack of action bravery?

Often, when my mind strays to you and your breathing, I wonder how long you have been there.

Perhaps time moves differently for you.

Or maybe you were never there and this Open Letter is for a hallucination.

I must confess, I have never felt closer to something greater than myself than when I hear your breathing, hunched over the bathroom sink, the water in my cupped hands overflowing.

I doubt you are a hallucination. 

Even if you are, would it be too presumptive to ask for your breathing to be quieter?

No, that is not what I want.

Soundless breath would make it harder for me to hear you.

I must confess, I do not know what this letter is for.

I doubt I will even tape it up to the shower wall as I currently intend to do.

I share the bathroom, you see, and I would hate to be considered insane by my roommates.

I think this letter is to reassure you that I exist, and that I know you do, if you ever even read it.

I leave you, That What Lives Behind The Shower Curtain, with one final summation to read when and if I leave you this letter:

You exist and so do I. We are both brave and cowardly. Vulnerability is a sort of love. 

There is some quiet poetry in hearing you while washing my face.

All the best to you and your breathing,

Me, The Person That Hears You