The Middle of March

It has been tough to ignore the water. Your socks are wet. And the bottom of your pants. But you push past it. It beads on your forehead. The pads on your fingertips shrivel and pull away. You can smell it.

That's what bothers you.

The scent is everywhere. When your eyes are covered you can feel it draining out. When you're dry it's still in your nostrils. It's been there for years. It's been there forever.