Dear Soap,

 

I can scrub the bitter goosebumps that dance around on my skin until they forget the difference between left and right, but you will never be enough until you can scrub my memories so clean I can’t look at them without seeing my own reflection gazing back at me.

 

You could never be enough when you wash away grime from my gentle fingertips instead of the dirt and oil suffocating my ability to trust in anyone without being dragged my my knees first.

 

When you can flush out explicit dialect from juvenile tongues yet refuse to figure out just how to flush in words like “You are important too”.

 

You could never be enough when you remind me of how I was treated every time I store you in the corner and only use you when I want to feel good about myself.

 

I don’t know what I expected, I’ve never seen soap repair anything before but some piece of me thought maybe this time wouldn’t be like other times. But the truth is, you can throw punches at my coffee stains until dawn but I can’t throw you in the ring with any hole in my jeans. And I can’t expect you to erase my cynicism if I keep rubbing more in.

 

So thank you for being there when I need a final coat of squeaky cleanliness to climb aboard my reluctant smile.

 

For being my foamy embrace.

 

For being my silver lining because I’ve been through hell but at least my hair smells like vanilla now.

 

Soap, you are not enough, but you are something. You do what you are meant to and what you do best is remind me of the good people I know that also have washed off my tears.

 

You may not always succeed, but you do your best to clean up messes, so I’ll try to regift your efforts when oppurtunities find me.

 

Yours truly,

Lydia