The water is running and my tube of grapefruit sugar smells inviting to scrub all over imperfections, flaws in skin. First my moistened fingers find the dry skin on lips, then travel to roughness of shoulders and tiny white lines as well as burning pink bumps of the springtime rash.
My black hair falls in my face as I work past the knees, brushing it out of the way is a mere formality because my fingertips serve as my eyes. It tickles my face, which is already coated in sugar crystals. I have rubbed away the pain, where the headaches have struck and insistent end upon lodging themselves into my eyes. I close the futile hazel orbs and think of the way the sugar rotates under my nails.
Climbing into the shower, the hot water melts the sugar and I am cleansed.
Etcetera 
Reblogged this on RA's Journey into the world of Writing.