Catharsis

 

She sat by the window,

sipping her overpriced coffee in a quaint mug.

She chose this seat

so she could see the busy street.

Amidst the aroma

of freshly brewed coffee

and bee-like baristas moving to and fro,

she blankly stared at the cityscape from her nook.

 

She looked up and saw

swirls of black clouds looming overhead.

She heaved, and she sighed—

fresh memories of painted faces

and empty laughter

lingered in her thoughts.

 

Rain started to fall.

People, like aimless ants, scattered for shelter.

She smiled, knowing she was safe.

She was dressed to the nines;

she didn’t want to be caught in the deluge.

 

She looked out the window

and saw a toothy child grin,

splashing in a small puddle

as he ran with his friends,

laughing like they owned the world.

 

She sipped her overpriced coffee—

bland and dull.

She looked around her

and saw feigning yuppies just like herself:

dressed to the nines,

painted faces and fake smiles.

 

The imagery sent shivers down her spine.

She stood up and walked to the door.

She looked back, memorizing the scene,

took a deep breath,

and, with quick steady steps,

stepped out into the rain.

 

She knew the armor she had built would fall apart—

the gown, the gloss, the quiet grace.

But she smiled, then laughed,

and let the rain wash her clean.

 

She heaved a sigh

as the sky baptized her back to life.