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Quietly sitting by the river, she wondered if she should go over to his place. What was the point? Another few months, then back again. Meaningless. This was not how she was supposed to feel. She was 30, God damn it. She was supposed to feel alive. She had enough money to do all the things she wanted to when she was 20. Too see the world, to bungee jump in New Zealand, wine taste in Napa. Alternating between insecurity and over-confidence since she left college, she knew she had had a life to be proud of. She had achieved so much. But those dreams that she fought were, where were they? The money had meant nothing - yet she had taken up law purely for the money. Her one true love was dancing, but that, even she, especially she, knew was impractical to pursue. So she was content with advance classes, the occasional non-professional Dance Festival win. Moonlighting her true dreams, knowing that most creativity never did become a day job. Darren had called her cynical. He would get frustrated when she would vent about how much she hated the politics of law, yet she would continue to play her part - being the cold, icy civil real estate champion of the Chicago courtroom. steadily moving up, yet crying herself to sleep so many times. He didn't understand. She wasn't cynical, merely had this shadow of morose realism that told her the world didn't work that that. You couldn't expect to achieve doing what you wanted. That sense of grounded shadows had been part of her since childhood. It made her oddly quiet, intimidatingly mature for her age, even as a little girl. Why didn't she simply give it all up, he would ask her? After Sara was born, she wanted to. She thought maybe she had let the facade go on too long. she could never admit she didn't want the child. Still, 2 years later, when Sara died, it left her grieving and guilty. Did she will God into taking away what she didn't feel belonged to her world?Now with the charcoal blazer that blurred her Latino figure thrown to the grass beside her, her soft lilac work shirt hugging her figure, and her body slumped over her knees, chin betwen knees, she aimlessly watched a kingfisher swoop down and pluck a tiny fish out of the water. She sighed. Dear God. She was so..bored. What was wrong with her? She had no ambition. The last time she felt alive was when....when?A young boy zoomed by on the bridge above on a bicycle, non-chalant hair refusing to stay where it should. She could hear the music from his player, "..When everything feels like the movies, Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive..."Pop culture trying to tell her it would all be alright. Music. Music could still make her feel alive. Always had. She breathed in deep. She could taste the acrid pungent humid smell of perennially wet dark soil mixed with the fresh lush grass. She ran her fingers through her hair just rough enough to feel it on her scalp, closing her eyes and breathing out. The sun had almost set. She looked at her watch. Enough play. Time to go home. With a purposeful gesture, she lifted her coat and straightened her skirt, walked back to the car and started the engine.Time to go home.