Clean

Every week, she's there. In the Costco Foodcourt, she's lost in a flurry of people, pushing, shoving, grimy and methodical. Every week, it's the same routine, the same order. She's beautiful, short, heavy set. Yet, I've never heard her talk. She hides behind the register and employee vest, which boasts a cheerfullness she doesn't posess. Her eyes are heavily made up in blacks and blues, shying away from attention, but what drew mine were her lips. Perfectly colored in a deep maroon, which by the end of the day, worn and chewed on, faded to nothing more than an outline. There is a sadness lingering in her eyes that I could not place, both amplified and hidden by her careful eyeliner.

This week was different. This week, I couldn't find her, when I suddenly realized she was directly in front of me. With no make-up at all. Her face seemed rosier, her eyes, bigger and brighter, and her lips, so pale and naked, smiled. She spoke. Softly, in a gentle, unplacable accent. She was smiling, and her eyes, previously so full of sadness, seemed to be lit up.

I do not know what prompted her to wash off her sadness, but perhaps, I must do the same. I haven't blogged in a time, perhaps because I didn't want to think about the gathering darkness in the corners of my mind. But with this, I purge OrganizedChaos, and I smile too, gratefully welcoming back the light.