bathroom raze when i slept over at her place, we would go through our before-bed personal hygiene routines together, standing side-by-side at her gigantic desk of a sink, half-naked, peeling away what the day had given us, slipping into chemical garments to guard against the dirt of sleep. there was a muted tenderness about it — how we were okay with being seen at our least attractive, and how that level of trust, however skin-deep, negated whatever physical defects we thought we had. we were never more beautiful to each other than in those moments when we were ugly in our own eyes. 130704 what's it to you? who go blather from