crying outside of dior

written on the dc metro

this is the second post in my unedited drafts series (here’s the first). i think it’s important to look at writing in all forms, sometimes it’s polished and every word is intentional, but other times you just need to get words out and onto a page. this is one of those times.

i bought an $8 matcha and threw half of it away, the grainy, overly sweet drink tasted like some child’s kitchen sink concoction. the butterflies in my stomach heightened after a couple of sips. i forced it down while i walked out of my office, silver shoes sparkling against the dull beige of the sidewalk. everything felt weird, my phone kept buzzing in my bag, presumably slack notifications, and the matcha started tasting worse with every sip. chug it until you reach a trash can i told myself, already performing an elaborate mental gymnastics routine to justify getting rid of it. i walked and i chugged the matcha, quickening my pace, until finally, i found a trash can and perhaps too aggressively, threw it in.

unshed tears began to burn in my eyes, each clack of my heels felt like a weight being dropped on my shoulders. i climbed on the bus, not checking which route, just wanting to get far from the office. i sat near the back, my headphones on but no music playing, and just told myself to calm down. i peeked into my bag for what felt like the hundredth time, the broken laptop staring back at me, mocking me with its cartoonishly dumb corporate cover. stops came and went, people chattered around me and finally, i came to my senses. i got off downtown and began to walk to a familiar spot.

citycenter, home to washington dc’s designer storefronts, luxury apartments, and overpriced restaurants, stared back at me. i walked past the gucci store, peering into the windows at the jackie bag i so desperately want but can’t casually drop thousands of dollars on. i let myself wander deeper into the maze of designer— hermes behind me, chanel to my left, millions of dollars of fabric and leather in there, and all i had was a broken laptop and shiny shoes that gave me blisters.

everything moved too quickly—my job, my broken laptop, the cherry blossoms blooming seemingly out of nowhere, gucci jackie bags on the arms of teenagers—and i felt like everything was caving in on me. i threw myself down at one of the tables near the dior store, the tears finally spilling over. i was a mess, too vulnerable, too unprofessional, the furthest thing from the girls sitting near me with their cappuccinos and goyard tote bags. i looked up at the pink and white paper lanterns, the perfect facade of the dior store and i asked myself what i was doing.

i took this after crying

but let’s back up for a second.