Dumme Kleine Worte - H. May

blurry eyes & tearful goodbyes

   the shrill ringing of the older fashioned alarm clock is what jolts wilhelmina out of her deep, yet somehow restless sleep. though it wasn't an uncommon occurrence for her to have to survive off little to no sleep, the previous night was one full of rushed packing, a glass of wine (or two), and analyzed papers she had yet to turn in. with the news of her opa passing, she had spent the last week rushing to get as much of her college assignments completed in advance, fully consuming every ounce of her attention, which helped in the whole 'keep busy while you grieve' business.
   releasing a long sigh, the graceful redhead drags her hand to the bell of the clock and fumbles until it stops. flicking her bedding off her warm body, while heaving herself to an upright position at the edge of the bed, dragging her hand over her face, she lets her fingers rub the crusties out of the corner of the lashes. she was internally grateful towards her tipsy self for laying out an outfit the night before, and forcing herself into the shower in her drunken state, allowing her to just worry about her skincare in the limited time she has.
   she flinches slightly when the cold hard wood of her studio apartment touches the souls of her feet, leaving her to rethink the decision to tough it out barefoot and slides on her slippers. dragging her tired body to the coffee machine in the corner of her tiny kitchen, she fills up the new filter full of grounds, and presses start while glancing at the ticking clock on the kitchen wall,  2:50am.
   wonderful.

   heading to the green couch pressed against the wall, wilhelmina changes out of her old highschool sweater and shorts she had thrown on for bed, into the comfy travel clothes that laid waiting for her on the cushions. covering her mouth, as a yawn escapes her lips, she packs up her chargers and laptop into a backpack that's she's had as long as she can remember. it was made of brown canvas, that had worn down so bad in some areas, it had faded to a taupe color where the edges came undone.
   the sound of the dripping coffee accompanied by her slow motions as she ties the laces on her stained nike blazers, double wrapping the string around the high top, as she heads back into the kitchen. tripping over the panel of wood in the floor that seems to stick out more and more everyday, she curses lightly, grumbling as she pulls out her to-go coffee mug and pours the liquid out of the pot into the metal enclosure. adding some sugar, she places the lid onto the cup before twisting it shut.
the first sip helps calm her nerves some, she flips on the bathroom light, and starts to warm up the faucet. in the mirror she can see that her hair has left over curls from the day before, which she takes as a win, and she pulls out her face wash and begins the process. it only takes around ten minutes to wash her face of any oils and throw on some mascara, highlighter and coconut oil on her lips, which the ginger applies after brushing her teeth.
the 29 year old rushes through the small yet quaint apartment and turns off the lights in the main room and bathroom, grabbing the suit case off the floor in the process, and flings her backpack onto her shoulders. as she walks into the kitchen, the clock reads 3:15am, causing her to let out a sigh of relief, the train ride takes around 45 minutes, and there's no way she's leaving her car at the airport for a week. wilhelmina grabs her keys off the hook that hangs next to her wooden front door, and grabs the spare from the junk drawer in her kitchen; she had already talked to her neighbor lyle, a man short in stature but tall in ego, about keeping the spare just in case anything happens while she's gone.
right as she passes the kitchen counter, she snags the small satchel bag that lays on the corner, and slings it across her body, dropping her keys into it with one hand, and opens the front door with the other allowing her right hand to place the coffee to her lips, as she chugs the rest in one go. only turning back to lock the door and place her spare key in the mail slot in the door across from hers, she rushes down the three stories of stairs, and passes the mail room to get outside.
the apartment complex was quite old, and had a lot of so-on-so-called 'character' about it, but it was cheap and she didn't need much. plus it was really close to the train station, though some would say that's a down side, as there's no peace and quiet from the rushing of metal wheels along the tracks.
her right hand reaches into her satchel, blindly searching for the lighter and cigs, as her other hand was occupied pulling the suitcase on wheels. finding what she was looking for, she grabs the box of american spirits, placing it between her lips before lighting it. no matter how many times her brother tells her they are bad for her health, nothing will ever beat the feeling of the first cigarette of the day, and that is a hill she is willing to die on.

boarding the train wasn't a new experience, and she moves on autopilot throughout the journey. allowing her cig to reach the filter, she ashes it before stepping through the automatic doors, and takes an open seat next to a window. she pulls out the leather pocket book that she keeps on her person at all times, and pulls out the black pen and writes the words that have been repeating in her head since the moment she woke up.
she would like to call herself a poet, but she will never live up to the poet her opa was. she can still remember the early mornings with him, as he'd sit in the backyard of his and oma's house, and stay there for hours as his thoughts would scribe put on the pages of his own journal.
and as thoughts of her opa take over, and her handwriting slowly takes up the space on the pages, she can't help but feel like there's something more in cochem then just her family's grief.