I Put My Head on the Washing Machine While It Was Running

Dear Delyara, The spin cycle had started, and I leaned my forehead against the lid. The machine was warm and vibrating, and the hum traveled into my skull in a way that felt weirdly soothing, like white noise with a heartbeat. I stayed there longer than anyone would think reasonable, one hand on the detergent bottle, the other hanging uselessly at my side. I think I needed something louder than my thoughts but quieter than the house. That’s what the machine was. A mechanical permission slip to not talk. Not decide. Not respond. Just exist beside a sound that didn’t need my emotional labor. When the cycle ended, I almost felt abandoned by it. That’s how lonely I was.