Boil

The smooth surface of the water bares my reflection.
We are equals. Transparent. Solid. I can respect that.
From the center of the water there is a stir.
Nothing substantial, it doesn't mean a thing to me.
I continue to stare at myself; maybe I adjust my hair in the reflection.
The water is warm. I wonder if this is what the Bahamas is like, or Barbados.
"We'll save up honey," I say as I continue to stare.
Her eyes show that same transparency.
My pointer finger digs under my collar and my ring and thumb loosen my tie.
Why am I shaking? What the hell is wrong with me?
"It's hot in here," she says. I never look at her when she speaks.
"Maybe I should shave?" I say to no one in particular. As expected there is no reply.
Days could pass, time could suspend itself on the vapors that hang over water.
A reminder of the end because time must always end.
"I'm tired," I say as my eyelids sag to form cracked slits.
Open.
Foam spills down and sizzles. Bubbles form and disappear, the lifespan of milleseconds.
Alarms sound from the other room.
"We should talk," she mutters under the sirens in the distance.
Great.
"Yeah."