Forgotten Textures

A crumpled towel lies in shadowed despair,

its colors faded, a whisper of care.

Stains mar the fabric, like thoughts left behind,

an echo of moments, unkind and unkind.

I pause at its presence, a mirror of me,

where dust settles softly, and silence runs free.

The bathroom is empty, the stillness is loud,

a confession of choices, my head heavy, bowed.

A quiet reminder of things left undone,

of dreams I’ve neglected, of battles not won.

Yet here, in this chaos, there’s beauty, a hint,

like life’s tangled fabric, where we learn how to print.