EROS
With her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she was washing dishes by hand, despite the dishwasher being just three feet away.
Her shoulders were tense, lacking the confident, squared-off posture she had maintained all evening. It was something more rigid.
A stiff demeanor of someone holding themselves together through sheer determination.
She hadn’t noticed my arrival, or if she did, she chose not to look back. The water continued to run. Her hands moved in a mechanical fashion, scrubbing a plate that was likely already clean. She was engaged in the same ritual I performed at two-thirty in the morning. The exact same action. Going through the motions that had little to do with the task at hand and everything to do with the need for something to grasp onto.
“You don’t need to wash
