Forgive Me My Trespasses

There is an almost religious clarity that occurs when she washes her hair. A comforting sanctity that both literally and figuratively washes over her. It's a type of baptism that serves as a rebirth, a cleansing of not only the body, but the mind. Giving a new start to the bleak and monotonous day. The water curtains over her, sanctimonious in its purity as it cleanses her hair and cascades down her battered body. Renewing and repairing split ends, and her splitting headache. The suds are a gentle kindness in her unusually harsh world.

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