The one that got away {slightly self-absorbed, not particularly logical}

The café is not dark enough for the one that got away. She can be spotted. (Like a leopard – a glittering wariness surrounds her; she wears caution like a magic cloak.) She does not understand well-lit cafés. Coffee is shades of dark (only briefly starred with sugar) – it follows that cafés should be dark too. Candle-light dark to reflect her thoughts.

The one that got away wonders if she got her way. She packed things up. She detached strings and left none untied. She closed the door behind her. (Closed, not slammed. It was a nice door: lightgreen wood, reminding of avocado and mint, something you could eat or put on your face, and emerge refreshed either way.) The door she is about to open has red and white stripes. As if saying no entry between the lines. What’s behind door number two? [a stranger music; the sound of rain; the smell of a hidden garden]

When she opens the door, a stranger music greets her. Hello, says the one that got away. The music stops in response. The end of the track. (Is this where she ends up? She got away, however. Notwithstanding.) She sits down: carpeted floor – high maintenance. Why are soft things always high maintenance? She closes her eyes, imagining the sound of rain in the sudden silence.

She dreams of a hidden garden. It contains only the outline of flowers. And their smell. The air is incensed with it! It’s the most beautiful garden she has ever not seen.

Time to go, thinks the one that got away when she opens her eyes. She can never stay too long. Especially in too-soft, highly maintained spaces.

She’ll leave the café soon. As soon as it stops raining. The light disappointed her. (Light sets one up for disappointment. One knows it cannot last. Unlike the insomniac darkness of a night that goes on and on...)

What did she get away from, after all? She was trying to escape her self, like everybody else (except those ones who are still absurdly trying to find theirs). But all she managed to do was to cut herself out, so that now she is here: a paper version, two-dimensional and a little stiff. While somewhere else that smells of roses and rain the one that got her way stands, ephemeral and bright, the outline of a flower.