The Alchemist

She was an alchemist.

She could transmute love into hate. She could draw her alchemic circle and perform the laws of equivalent exchange and change a lukewarm relationship into a lukewarm ex.

She could change worries into calm, by changing his feelings. She could sacrifice time for lifespan. She could transfer love from one man to another.

She was an alchemist.

Each day, she’d impress her friends with the calm she exuded and the control she took. She’d amaze them with her transmutations of emotions, from hot to cold and from passion to opposing passion.

Each day, she’d shift some feeling and balance the scales of control in her favor. In return, she would lose something, as ordained in the law of equivalent exchange. A lover. A friend. Warm afternoons and library whispers and midnight talks.

She was an alchemist.

And in the end, it didn’t amount to much.


At Midnight

She sings in the shower at midnight. The running water carries her words away. They blend together as they go down the drain.

She only showers at midnight. Purges her body. Rubs her fingers until the skin peels and scrapes her feet until only the softest skin remains.

She’s awake all nights. Sleeps in the morning under the blankets. Drowns out the morning with the sound of falling water playing in her head.

She sings only sad songs in the shower.

She only sings in the shower…

Her eyes bleed water in the shower. But they blend in with the songs and the water and escape down the drain.

She has depression. She lives alone and eats alone and works alone. She climbs into her narrow shower at night by herself. She is an island in the running water.

She sings softly in the shower at midnight and hopes someone will hear. Know.