Melissa Rubio

The Willow Tree

It was a solemnly rainy night, yet the city lights glimmered with enigma as they reflected on her window. Jeanette embraced her shoulders to give herself warmth from the draft sneaking through. The rain appeased her, comforted her in a way only it knew how to do. As the droplets fell against her window, reflections of city lights gleamed through each one, like tiny peaks of hope. She closed her eyes and exhaled the daily fatigue. Her own reflection stared back at her. Panpsychism, they call it. Her reflection did indeed have a consciousness, and within that consciousness her split soul witnessed her solitude and every tear. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. Reflections have a way of spying; they seem to creep up when you’re being illuminated—the illumination of vulnerability and truth. She knew her life was fleeing from her. The days had turned to months and the months to years. She was trying to hold onto her dream of becoming a real artist for a while, a long while in fact. Her dreams felt unattainable at times, yet, she tried to remain hopeful. She imagined herself as a renown actress, it was her only real dream. She wondered if it would ever come true. Her life was speeding along and she was in the backseat powerless and buckled, everyone and everything outside the window flashed by and there was nothing she could do.