Just is in a cursive font at the patient’s sink, but the water stain could suggest Lust… my hands are clasped and I’m wishing one was yours. My search history knows every change you’ve made online, the Latin, the proverb, and to think I don’t care… your profile as ritualistic as my crossword and the bible I need to read. Do you miss reading it to me, reading me to sleep, your voice lulling my passion? My heart rate drops at the thought and spikes as we exit the patient’s room.