This morning I slip a towel sprawled on the floor

This morning I slip, a towel sprawled on the floor,

a quiet reminder of yesterday’s rush,

a softened edge against the unforgiving tiles,

crumpled and damp, like the thoughts in my head.

I pause there, on my knees, picking it up,

it cradles the weight of fleeting moments,

every drop, a trace of warmth still lingers,

yesterday’s missteps woven in fabric so small.

This towel holds pieces of life unpolished,

like a rough draft of who we are,

a comfort laid bare, a vulnerability exposed,

reminding me that tenderness slips on the floor.