I Still Find Your Hair in My Shower Drain

A cycle of poems «Your Kiss Tasted Like a Late-Night Regret»

Steam still rises, water runs,
But your ghost lingers when the day is done.
I twist the knob to drown the ache -
And there it is… another strand you left in my wake.

I scrub the tiles, I bleach the grout,
Try to wash the past right out.
But time won’t rinse what love engraved -
Your trace remains, though you’ve long waved.

I still find your hair in my shower drain,
Twisted like the promises we couldn’t sustain.
Black as midnight, soft as lies,
Caught in metal, caught in my eyes.
I pull it out, but not the pain -
It coils deeper in my veins.
You’re gone, but you won’t let go…
Not while your shadow clogs my flow.

You used to hum that old song low,
While hot water melted all your woe.
I’d wait outside, lean on the door,
Just to hear you sigh like life was more
Than bills and silence, fights and fear -
For three minutes, you were here.
Now the bathroom’s cold, the mirror’s bare…
Except for strands of you still there.

I bought a new brush, tossed the old,
Changed the soap, rewrote the mold.
But memory clings to porcelain -
Your scent, your laugh, your “see you then.”

I still find your hair in my shower drain,
Twisted like the promises we couldn’t sustain.
Black as midnight, soft as lies,
Caught in metal, caught in my eyes.
I pull it out, but not the pain -
It coils deeper in my veins.
You’re gone, but you won’t let go…
Not while your shadow clogs my flow.

Last Tuesday, I almost called your name -
Saw your curl caught in the same old frame.
I held it like a sacred thread,
Then flushed it hard, but not my dread.
My therapist says, “Let it pass,”
But how when even water’s glass
Reflects the shape you left behind -
A hollow where your warmth once shined?

I thought I’d heal in quiet rooms,
In clean sheets and ticking clocks and gloom.
But grief’s not loud - it’s soft and sly:
A single strand against the sky
Of porcelain white, a silent thread
That ties me to the bed we fled.
You left your mark in skin and steam…
And I’m still drowning in the dream.

I still find your hair in my shower drain,
Proof that love outlives its own goodbye refrain.
Fragile, stubborn, thin as fate -
A ghost I can’t evaporate.
I pull it out, but not the chain…
It drags me back to love and rain.
You’re gone - but not from here, not plain -
Not while you haunt my shower drain.

So I’ll keep washing, day by day,
Let the water steal what it may.
But if your hair still shows up true…
Maybe part of me still waits for you.
One strand. One breath. One silent plea -
You’re gone…
But you’re still part of me.