Girl on the Staircase

        My public transits are almost always lackluster and marked by anxious waiting. One of those unassuming hot evenings, staring out of a window that was carved up by the many teenagers that preceded, I saw a young girl sitting on her staircase.  Her hands held her face that seemed to have been sinking with unsettling distress.  Her eyes lacked the whiteness she probably had an hour prior.  As tears slid down her cheeks that glossed in the sun, she suddenly began walking. Mustering a need for little stillness, she sprung sharply on her feet, marching forward in a speed that sliced the air that touched her path.  I hope her final destination meant her well.

But where was she going? Destined to leave a shadow. No longer the girl on the staircase.  Her harsh footsteps imprinted on the delicate green grass, which nicely covered both sides of her yard. The walkway was too long of a passage, so her feet followed the urgency within.  Lead by the song in her heart, she fleeted... aggravated and in pain.  I just stood on the packed bus, obedient to the red light, one arm holding on for balance, the other gripping the handles of my backpack, wondering over the reasons this girl was brought to a point of shatter. Her and I, two worlds a part, the boiling battle of the heart and my entangled curiosity consumed by her bottomless pain, only a few feet away. Captured by the moment while "Here Comes The Sun" by The Beatles played in the background through my earphones.