sometimes i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
once a washcloth has been greasy and worn out,
someone who appreciates its worth takes it out from the workshop,
rubs it clean
removes all the grime, the dirt, the grease, the impurity
soaks it in a tub full of soap and warm water
then laid out to enjoy the breeze
and embrace the warmth of the sun
to start fresh, to start anew, to feel brand new again.
a clean slate for the washcloth; a repetitive process until it has been worn out on its last string.

i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
to be able to wring out all the scars, the wounds, the wickedness
and start anew every time.

but i guess that's what makes us human.
all the battle scars will remain as a lesson,
all the wickedness situated upon us will always convey a message,
and all the pain will serve its reminder that there is a brighter tomorrow.

but sometimes,
i can't help but wonder
what it's like to be a washcloth.