She sat by the same window, stirring her coffee. Looking out - thinking - nothingness. The comprehension of the most simplest activities of the human mind stayed well beyond her reach. She came here often to be astray in the smoke from the chimneys that preceded the green lake. Through the cloud of the smoke, she kept her attention out for the water. Water that seemed misty from the chimney smoke. Water that was true. Water, that was imperviously solid. Water, that reflected everything for what it was. She smirked, thinking funnily, how the haze from the steam of her coffee, was just so essential for her to obstruct the distractions the world was ready to serve on a plate, each time that she was here. Alike the steam of her coffee blanketed her when she rendered herself most vulnerable, the smoke of the chimneys, never let anyone see the true face of the water. She often thought to herself, how unfair for the water to be abandoned out there naked. Oh, how she could understand the shame of it! But, she thought, the foliage must be burying the hatchet for it by imparting its avocado to the water. Is that why the water is green? Is that why it was so hard to look inside of it? She wanted to dive deep down in it and fish out secrets the water curtained from the rest of the world. And as her coffee came down to the bottom, she hurriedly closed her diary, paid the bill and took off, lest anyone caught her at her most open moments, when there was no coffee steam to envelop her flaws and weaknesses, when the caffeine started to drain out from her veins. She took off. To another place, in search to unravel the opacity of something else, something new, where she'd find more coffee, more steam, and lesser probabilities of having the taste of her own medicine.
Inspirations are a funny thing.