The morning crisp air flowed through the office,

It left a bitter taste of metal and dryness,

Just made the hallway seem longer.

One door turns to three turns to five,

“225” she broke the silence.

225.

Feet connected to legs attached to hips,

Knew just what to do.

Yet eyes wandered arms swinged fingers twitched,

There, it catches me.

Or did I catch it instead.

As the adults talked about insurance,

It talked to me.

It was a tank built into the wall,

With the most vibrant sea anemone I’d ever seen.

It flowed and made a rhythm for the fish inside,

Almost like a show.

“You can take a seat while you wait,”

Perfect.

I picked a brown, boring couch that matched the bland room,

Except for the colorful tank. 

I made sure I was facing it directly,

For I wanted to watch every step.

There was so much to take in,

Rocks all around the floor, a current like wind lit up the entire tank.

I was engulfed in the performance put on by the fish.

There were three minnows at the top,

Waltzing around and taking in the world below them.

They hovered at the front, careful of the fourth minnow.

This minnow was bigger and elegant, 

Dancing its grand polka. 

It seemed too rehearsed and routine.

I wonder how long they practiced.

 Two clownfish weaved through the sea anemone,

Making their own pattern and song.

The anemone embraced the fish,

One by one.

Each clownfish had their own solo moment,

Yet they worked as a duet,

Getting their job done.

The star of the show was hard to miss,

For it hogged the entire front part of the tank.

Its neon yellow gills and paper thin body,

Made it the prima donna.

The yellow fish was not nearly as graceful as the rest of the fish,

Yet it knew how to steal the show.

It struggled to go against the current,

Remaining determined.

They yellow fish talked to the rest of the fish near the rocks,

Social as could be,

Stellar as the stars.

I think we all know a yellow fish in our life.

I grew up wanting to be like the yellow fish,

Confident and outgoing.

However, I was the tiny, half black half muddy orange fish.

It hid in the bottom right corner. 

Its rocks were near perfection, 

For that was its job.

If you didn’t look close enough,

You probably couldn’t even see this fish.

Sometimes it poked its head out to watch the show put on the yellow fish.

This fish didn’t have time to perform.

It was often behind the scenes and only talked if need be,

Knowing its boundaries. 

It didn’t mean that this fish didn’t have big aspirations in life,

Or that its dreams were unreached.

Maybe they don’t know what it wants to be in the future,

Still looking for the end goal. 

I felt for the fish, 

I could relate.

“Claire?”

The fish took their final bow.

I stood up as they continued on,

Getting ready for their next opportunity.