I analyze her face. She appears frustrated, like a glowing hot ember struggling to regain its flame. She’s smoldering under a thick layer of mixed emotions. The steam from the shower begins to obscure her so I swipe my damp palm across the glass to once again bring her into focus. It’s difficult to maintain eye contact; her gaze is hot and piercing. I’ve wronged her, it seems.
She is the rightful fire, I am the warm ash.