"Lasts up to four months," the commercial says. Wow. "Four months of a sparkling clean toilet bowl." Wow. Four Months. What was I doing four months ago? I was with you. Yes. Right about the time I dropped that Blue Pellet in the dark water, we had our first kiss. Cleansing liquid flowed within white porcelain; my blood raced as I felt your touch. Four Months. Oh, how I wish I could bring back the hours we spent. If only I could retrieve those layers of blue that have long since dissolved and flowed down lonely steel pipes to some distant bayou. Am I blue? As the hard edges of that new pellet became smooth, our nervous attraction softened into a comfortable romance. The manic apprehension of a love that might not come to pass melted and flowed away. Am I blue? Ain't these tears in my eyes telling you? Soon that circle became more like an oval. Like a pill. A bitter pill. Like a hard pill to swallow. Then, that pill began to weaken and break apart. Am I blue? Ain't these tears in my eyes telling you? Ain't this water in my toilet telling you? Oh, I will never forget how once that Fresh New Pellet proudly displayed its logo, en- graved on the front. Now you are gone. But the water is still blue. A lonely speck remains in the basin. One last flush. When the blueness in my toilet was still solid, not liquid, perhaps I was kissing you for the last time. I will never love another. I will never let my toilet water become clear again. Not clear, like the way it was before I met you. Not clear, like the tears that I cannot flush away from my face. "No, you can't use my bathroom," I tell Them, because I cannot let you go, my darling. "Four months!" the commercial says. The Four Months you have given me will  last forever.
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