She finally stepped out of their office building and into the breezy evening. Always working overtime, it wouldn’t be too long before the night deepened. The draping darkness almost completely dimmed her figure, but the lamp posts lining the path she walked exposed some of her physical details that could be reflected - her old, scratched eyeglasses, and the now orangey-faded color of her short hair - both glinted in the small amount of brightness in the deep night.
As the wind blew stronger and through her hair, she swiftly ran a hand inside the pocket of her long gray cardigan, subsequently pulling it to cover her body. Her other hand held her plain black satchel bag which perhaps contained nothing more than merely essential items a working girl would have - a black wallet, a cellphone, a quirky purse for chargers and earphones, and perhaps a spacious monochrome-colored vanity pouch that only contained a lip balm for her sensitive lips.
Those lips. The stars, the moon, and the sun had witnessed one too many memories of those lips. At one point too many, those lips were a source of some inexplicable, sheer delight.
Whether to appreciate the weather or to feel lonely about it, she didn’t know. It was the kind of weather that served bittersweet taste to her skin - while it gave her the breeze she yearned for after a long day, the coldness also sharply grazed her skin, biting at it...and somehow, it was also the kind of scrape that sliced through somewhere deeper, by some means making its way to her soul.
That night, the weather was her bitter, wretched companion.
She picked up her pace, her black chucks evidently making noise from the scraping they made against the stoney surface of the path she was now treading. She couldn’t wait for another day to be over. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Nothing beautiful about the cold night that was once, twice, thrice, too many times...crazy.
Crazy beautiful.
Was crazy beautiful.
Had been crazy beautiful.
Finally reaching the part of the path where the bridge she walked underneath of ended, she looked up at the big roof of gloom hovering over the planet she stood on. Dark skies. Shimmering stars. Pretty, sad. Pretty sad. Staring up, her eyes glistened with the same sadness that’d been consuming her for some time now, as they caught the light coming from the moon above which seemed to stare back down at her.
Oh, how bad must she have wanted to reach for that moon, bring it down, and hold it in her hands till every single thing she didn’t want to feel was wiped off of her system.
It must’ve asked her, “How tired are you?”
For that brief moment she stopped from her tracks, she got surrounded by the needy children in an instant, asking for money. She wanted to give food, but it wasn’t what they wanted. Quickly, she walked past them.
Like she would do as she wanted at times, she jogged her way up the 5-step stone stairs that led her way to the parking lot. When she reached the top, she continued walking, but she walked in a sluggish manner.
She looked so tired. Her face so gloomy.
Must be from the sudden jog she did. But then again, she could be dying inside without anyone knowing the freaking sad truth.
She finally went inside the parking lot.
I watched her walk inside, and saw her fade away. Suddenly, the image of her crestfallen face and her broken demeanor was my last syndrome.
“How are you still here?” I muttered to myself, wishing she could somehow hear it.
Wishing she would somehow respond.
“How...are you...still here,” I repeated sadly under my breath, hearing a hint of regret and despair in my tone all of a sudden.
Every ghost from the past knew I wanted to run after the broken angel that just walked by, but I couldn’t.
And then the last thing I felt was the cold night biting at my soul, and the stitches in my heart that began to pop.
As the wind blew stronger and through her hair, she swiftly ran a hand inside the pocket of her long gray cardigan, subsequently pulling it to cover her body. Her other hand held her plain black satchel bag which perhaps contained nothing more than merely essential items a working girl would have - a black wallet, a cellphone, a quirky purse for chargers and earphones, and perhaps a spacious monochrome-colored vanity pouch that only contained a lip balm for her sensitive lips.
Those lips. The stars, the moon, and the sun had witnessed one too many memories of those lips. At one point too many, those lips were a source of some inexplicable, sheer delight.
Whether to appreciate the weather or to feel lonely about it, she didn’t know. It was the kind of weather that served bittersweet taste to her skin - while it gave her the breeze she yearned for after a long day, the coldness also sharply grazed her skin, biting at it...and somehow, it was also the kind of scrape that sliced through somewhere deeper, by some means making its way to her soul.
That night, the weather was her bitter, wretched companion.
She picked up her pace, her black chucks evidently making noise from the scraping they made against the stoney surface of the path she was now treading. She couldn’t wait for another day to be over. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Nothing beautiful about the cold night that was once, twice, thrice, too many times...crazy.
Crazy beautiful.
Was crazy beautiful.
Had been crazy beautiful.
Finally reaching the part of the path where the bridge she walked underneath of ended, she looked up at the big roof of gloom hovering over the planet she stood on. Dark skies. Shimmering stars. Pretty, sad. Pretty sad. Staring up, her eyes glistened with the same sadness that’d been consuming her for some time now, as they caught the light coming from the moon above which seemed to stare back down at her.
Oh, how bad must she have wanted to reach for that moon, bring it down, and hold it in her hands till every single thing she didn’t want to feel was wiped off of her system.
It must’ve asked her, “How tired are you?”
For that brief moment she stopped from her tracks, she got surrounded by the needy children in an instant, asking for money. She wanted to give food, but it wasn’t what they wanted. Quickly, she walked past them.
Like she would do as she wanted at times, she jogged her way up the 5-step stone stairs that led her way to the parking lot. When she reached the top, she continued walking, but she walked in a sluggish manner.
She looked so tired. Her face so gloomy.
Must be from the sudden jog she did. But then again, she could be dying inside without anyone knowing the freaking sad truth.
She finally went inside the parking lot.
I watched her walk inside, and saw her fade away. Suddenly, the image of her crestfallen face and her broken demeanor was my last syndrome.
“How are you still here?” I muttered to myself, wishing she could somehow hear it.
Wishing she would somehow respond.
“How...are you...still here,” I repeated sadly under my breath, hearing a hint of regret and despair in my tone all of a sudden.
Every ghost from the past knew I wanted to run after the broken angel that just walked by, but I couldn’t.
And then the last thing I felt was the cold night biting at my soul, and the stitches in my heart that began to pop.
