SHE

On a Sunday night, as she looked up at the moon,
staring unblinking, the soup missed her spoon.
Shuffling between the door and the clock,
her eyes, wide open, refused to lock.

Waiting, as always, she pushed away her plate,
washed empty dishes, crossed out another date.
At midnight, when, she had finally made her plan,
to pack her belongings, she began.

At 3 in the morning, she went to bed at last,
slept peacefully for once in her bed vast.
She woke up, got dressed, same as every day,
and then wore a bright red, throwing away the grey.

And so, showed the mirror, a whole different woman,
opening her bun, with wild curls undone.
New dawn, new dream, as her old self died,
unexplored city, she explored without a guide.