She sat by herself at the familiar coffee shop downtown, gazing out the window, sipping an iced caramel latte. Her favorite part was the drizzle of caramel that swirled over the top. The sun occasionally peaked through the clouds and made it’s way to her tattooed skin. Her dark, wavy hair, with tints of red, glistened in the light. She had an array of sticker-filled Apple products she couldn’t really afford spilled out on the table in front of her and a to-do list a mile long; but she couldn’t steal her gaze from the world outside. Nothing in particularly interesting was happening, but she found herself wondering about the passerby. Where were they going? Were they happy? Do you think they struggle with mental illness too? Are they stressed, worried, or anxious? Are they in love? Are they a genuine, kind person? A young lady passing by with a well-loved and curious mutt made her shyly smile. She sighed, thought of all the things that needed to be done, and checked her phone to see how much of the day had escaped her. 3:26pm. A text on the screen read, “I love you and hope you’re having a good day. What are you doing?” She was doing a million things and also nothing. She was restless and wanted to go. She didn’t know where she was going, but she was bound and determined to get there.
The sun was shining, so she closed her blinds as she swept her bangs from over her eyes; the brightness and glow was too much for her damaged soul to bear. An old and tattered floral chair, like the ones you see abandoned beside dumpsters, called itself home in the dimly lit corner of her room; she saw much beauty and history in things others only wanted out of their way. She also possessed a beauty that was often overlooked. By the chair sat a small table passed down from generations of people she would never know; old, dirty, and abused, the table beautifully held a caramel latte and an antique sea-foam green book. She adored things that others didn’t. In her over-sized sweater, her nervous hands picked at the threads as she imagined the outside world. Bright and happy, she thought, they just won’t understand; as always, she smiled shyly to herself, swept her silky hair behind her ear, and made that old chair home. Quietly sipping her coffee and taking in the dusty smell of her favorite book, she knew that things aren’t so bad after all.
“Smile. You’re so much prettier when you smile.” Her hair as dark as the devil’s soul and her sad, blue, eyes as bright and watery as a shallow lagoon. She was always rather content in her misery, seeing as it’s all she has ever known. “Why do you always look so sad?” they would ask. She didn’t know. A pure smile or a spontaneous laugh felt like sunshine to her soul, but most days, the weather was dreary. She looked forward to a beautiful sunrise, but was comforted by the sound of rain pecking on the window. Happiness always felt too expensive a thing to have; the lucky, usually thoughtless, ones were rich enough for such a pleasure, but not her. She wasn’t poor by any means, just rich in unconventional ways; her complex mind experienced this cruel world much deeper than most would consider normal. Everything means something, always. A glance over one’s shoulder, a deep sigh in a quiet room, reading a magazine backwards, or even a prolonged smile to another-means something, so very intimate and important, to everyone around. Simply put, life is all that we do intertwined into a single essence. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as her eyes began to close. “Blue..” she thought, “Why is it so bad to be blue? Such a vast and beautiful color seems like an extravagant thing to be.”