the residue of living

i have stopped scrubbing the glass  

every spot tells a small story  

the marks water leaves behind linger  

once i wished them to vanish unseen  

proof isn’t always in the clarity  

sometimes it is in the leftover haze  

a smudge that whispers of hands held  

a faint line speaking of what burned  

you call the mess unkempt and careless  

i call it the memory of my living  

to erase the stains feels like forgetting  

to leave them is a prayer for permanence  

what is left behind is not shameful  

what remains is evidence of the fire  

even in silence the watermarks speak  

even in the break something blossoms