She sat there at the table in the café, her coffee untouched, slightly off side of her elbows where they were perched on the table as she watched the world through the window. The people outside were always running, even more so today due to the rain. Recently, it always seemed to be raining, as if God couldn’t stop crying. She almost felt like letting tears fall as well, but she lacked the willpower to muster enough emotion.
On the outside, she looked refined and polished. On the inside, she was dead. She hummed like a well-oiled machine as she waited.
The inside of the world surrounding her was warm, with its usual abundance of potted plants and empty dishes, abandoned by people as they, too, began to run to some unknown destination. The atmosphere was sunny, like a comforting memory as it enveloped its dreamers, creating a particular state of mind that welcomed the consumption of it.
She was a dreamer, as she sat there admiring the soft reflection of her face. A dull, washed-out version of herself through the windows. Her colouring was dark and pale, the two shades trying to match her personality but failing to make an impact. She could see the fine spider-like lines as they traced the edges of her skin, forming the gentle movement that was her face.
She smiled softly. She laughed quietly. Still, she didn’t touch her coffee, and eventually the waiter asked if she was done with it. She told him to leave it, and so he did. Slowly, she began to rip the sugar packets apart and dump them into the liquid, creating a sugary sludge that she stirred it with a spoon.
Then she began to drink.
She loved her face and hated her body. For they were wrong in a way that was right, for it didn’t seem to match him. However, society accepted this relation the two of them had. Society accepted it, yet would not allow her that one pleasure.
She finished the drink and set the cup down with a thud.
She wished that she’d been born as part of him, that she’d been born as his heart. Because then she could always stay with him.
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