“What have I done?”
She wakes up, feeling the huge pang of regret. This is certainly not about hangover. This is not about one-night stand, either. She wishes things were simpler like that. She has gotten over those sorts of craziness when she was twenty-three. Really.
The dazzling summer sunlight that enters her bedroom window does nothing to uplift her mind. But, maturity she has acquired over the years prevents her from crying. “Tears based on your unstable emotions are the only privilege of a teenager,” she thinks to herself. Negative feelings won’t solve anything.
She drinks a big mug of black coffee, desperately hoping that the act completely changes her mood for the better like a shot of tequila, though she is damn sure that won’t undo what she has done last night.
She brushes her teeth, washes her face, gets dressed, puts her makeup on, ties her hair, a ponytail, to hide the necessity to get a haircut and wears her favorite Pandora bracelet and Tag Heuer watch: her lucky charms. May today be a good day!!!
As she walks to the station, her unconscious thoughts automatically replay last night. Instead, she tries to focus on the beauty of the green leaves of the trees on the streets and watches people walking by and wonders why not many women wear skirts here in Germany when a majority of them seem to have tall amazing figures that fit perfectly in cute summer dresses.
She sits comfortably on S-bahn train and looks at Rhein River from the window, which is the very moment she feels truly grateful for her life in Germany. She loves how the water shines, reflecting the beam of the sun. Positive energy fully charged. It does not mean that she is dying from the terminal stage of cancer like her mother. Maybe, her mother IS the sunshine. So, come on, let it go.
As the train goes underground approaching Frankfurt, she looks at herself through the window. The fingers on her lap are still tightly crossed. Three stops later, she gets up and walks towards the city center with the mass amount of tall people. She voicelessly whispers to herself, I can handle this.
© 2016 Miki Martinez