She sits and watches as the raindrops hit the window, making a slight ping sound before sliding, slowly at first, down the glass forming one large pool of water at the bottom edge of the pane.

She is reminded of tears, her tears last night. Even in the darkness, she knew the sob fest was pointless. She had not learned a thing.

The wind has picked up now. The rain begins to slap the window with an urgent intensity. She is in true victim mentality at this point. She looks to the ocean, and she is mesmerized as the waves swirl angrily with patches of white dotting the gray, as if it is foaming at the mouth from desperation.

This type of struggle is one she is all too familiar.

An inner fight that occurs within her each time she does the same thing expecting different results. Didn’t someone somewhere label that “insanity”?

Somewhere in the distance, the house creaks as in protest to the assault it is enduring. Lightning cuts across the sky, illuminating her reflection in the glass. As thunder rumbles, she begins to come to a realization. This storm, this darkness, this is who she is on the inside.

But she is an actress.

She can be whomever she wants, whenever she needs to be. But no one sees the real her. Does anyone want to see the real her?

The window is like a mirror, producing a reflection, but one that is not as deep. The person she sees between the window panes is a mere shell, a nuance of herself that becomes lighter with each bolt of lightning and returns to her truer essence as darkness returns. She can see the world and the world can see her, but neither can reach out and touch.

This is how she likes it, yet it feeds the storm.

A palm frond skips across the driveway.

She can feel a breeze lightly touching her fingertips as she runs her hand along the window sill. She brushes away the peeling paint, revealing the unvarnished wood beneath. Even the window sill is an actress, hiding behind a thin veil created by someone else. The wood is protected as she is protected by her ability to stay distant, her only worth is determined by those she is with.

Her thoughts are lost as she realizes that the storm that threatened to destroy and conquer is beginning to dissipate.

Even Mother Nature does not follow through to show her darkest side, she notes with a sigh. She takes one look back at the window, noticing that now she can barely make out her reflection in the glass as the sky is clearing. She tosses her hair, puts on a smile that shines a little too brightly, and walks out the door.

 She is an actress.

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Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo via D. Sharon Pruitt