The other day I caught myself about to say the following to someone I love very much: You need to dry your feet so you don’t track water all over my clean floors. I didn’t say it, obviously; I choked it back in horror and crept into a cave for several days to reflect on how things had gotten this bad without my realizing it – how on earth I could have turned into the type of person who refers to something as as unlovable and quotidian as a floor as something that could ever be
"My Clean Floor" And The Battles You're Only Aware Of Once You've Lost
Your writing always speaks to me, but rarely does it call out my name and shake a weary finger at me like this just did.