The Scent of steam clears and dissipates throughout the house. A shroud of mist filters every which way. An abundance of air chrysales we have created as a shield from the stench outside of our mansion. The beauty we’ve sewn by gently touching. The air fades and into the water we go to wash off our sweat.
You smile at me from the opposite side of the mirror. The light refracts so we can still gaze adoringly at one another. So does the naked girl you drew from your side of the cell. I chuckle and admire the detail in which her curves and her breasts resemble yours. I’m blinded by your light and cannot differentiate. If only the light gave me the ability to appreciate. She faded away after the drops ceased to bleed out with a swift turn of the knob. You faded away after I convinced you I was Smeagol that wretched slob.
Externally I will never see you again, but internally you are my Gandalf guiding me to Mt. Doom. The highest member of my Jedi Council. A reason to never feel the bitter scent of guilt and shame beset, and a reason to triumphantly deter regret.