I sit on the counter, awaiting your approach. The tired look in your eyes tells me this is more of a chore for you than it is for me. We do this every morning and every night. You come in, use me, and then leave. I'm dry as a bone most days. I figured that was because you had found someone else to keep your mouth clean, but then you were back and your teeth were far from clean. I cleaned the muck, the gunk. You needed me in that moment. You'll always need me. No one can do what I do for you. I am your toothbrush after all.