I just feel so... so disgusting. So greasy. So oily. I feel like I got out of a muddy puddle and went under the covers of a clean duvet.

Or maybe like I walked in a field in the humid night for hours, wearing tight cargo shorts and an even tighter shirt.

Or maybe like I ruined a painting or put something out of order.

Maybe my presence alone makes everything out of order.

But I know I'm not that important.

Maybe it would be better if...

If I just...