Eyes downcast in subtle
gentle movement, theatrically paused, pondering, tottering on my high
heels, leafless trees give way to feng shui surroundings. The churning of the
train fills my ears with loudest roar. Stepping from the platform,
crossing through the doors, a poignant silence which seems to last
forever. A woman starring out the window, in a far away dismal look,
then the gushing of her streams of tears. I cannot make the words, so I
offer her a tissue to wipe the darkened rings of mascara dripping down
her cheek, in a need to abolish them to the nearest graveyard. The doors
once again open, commuters in eager rush to get on with their day,
their work, and their ornate lives.
I think about the
woman later on in my day, the mournful face of her tears, I should have
asked her, was it death, or a love affair now over? I should have asked
her, should have comforted her, and should have offered her something
for her fragility, her tiredness, and her pain. Should have told her,
that this too shall pass. The salt of her tears rest in the unhurried
questions that still linger through my thoughts.
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