I loved you, I did. I believe I even sold myself a bit: on your love, my lust, your hair and just the way we stood there. How the air smelled of you, the way your shirt was cursed with blues. The way we danced by the ocean in front your mini-garden. The white fence, your loveliness and the heavenly kisses. It’ll always be the sheets, lying beside, holding your arm and kissing your hair in a loving stride.

I love clean sheets. It's the simultaneous reminiscence of how they got dirtied to begin with, and hopeful anticipation of what stories they will live to tell next time you are standing fatefully in front of the washing machine.