What do we do about the girl in the train?

With the future seeming blurred, and the past, so much more pain consuming, she took her seat. The vividness of the unknown, or should I say the lack of it, was eating her inside out. Though she tried, unsuccessfully, to not let it show. The pain, of course. Unsuccessfully. The tears that lingered at the corner of her eyes, gave her away.
The rain started beating down on the earth, against the window pane, on the green fields leaving the leaves wet, ruffled and awakened. That feeling of being animated, of viability, she ached for. Something inside her had died that night. The will to live, the will to smile, the will to love, not even herself. She did not stand alone, tall and proud anymore. She sat defeated, purposeless.
If I may ask, how does love give you away so easily? Rules are broken, and the resolute often bow down, often intimidated, often losing to spite the necessary ego. Please don't answer. I'm just asking. As I look at the girl, bereaved and alone, I cannot help but question some uncertain emotions. Now, don't look at me like that. Love is pretty uncertain, with all the unanswered questions, and the unspoken promises, along with the broken bonds. Trust is pretty over-rated, over-used, and mostly so, over-abused anyway. But what do we do about the girl in the train?
Whose face clings to the window pane.
The tears roll down, giving her away, only more so.
The nose turns a cheeky red, trying to sniff in the loneliness.
Who tightens her grasp around herself even more tightly, suddenly realizing that she is all that is there, for her.
Who clenches her fist and loosens it, uncertain of her life.
Who not once looks out of the window, trying to grasp in the surroundings, the beauty of the perfect amalgamation of rain and water.
Does she realize how bereaved and lost she might be, that she's gotten onto the uncertain train, as well?
Oh, what do we do about the girl in the train?
Do, we let her pain heal itself? Or do we leave her alone, to wither, and to be re-born again?
Oh, let the girl in the train be. Let them all in love, be.

Unreturned.

Like everyday, I see, 
you coming out of your sweet agony.
Your pain, 
makes my love for you abounding. 
As I stare at you
through the narrow recesses of the gleaming window,
the sunlight filling my eyes with joy.
Oh no, its not the sun to blame.
The world seems fine, with your smiles, 
and that twinkling laughter of yours.
Do you know my feelings, 
or me at best?
I guess not.
Does that hurt?
It fills my whole self with profuse pain.
But I still manage a smile,
or a silent blush,
when I see you sitting outside the door,
talking to your folks,
not once staring at the gleaming window;
where fluttering eyes stay. 
One of these days,
you'll be well.
Not anymore will you sit outside the door,
not anymore.
Not once have you seen up at me,
now, not anymore.
You will ride your bikes,
come back late in the night.
Or not return at all.
You will smoke joint with them guys,
in the alleys, that I cannot venture within.
My eyes still search for you through the gleaming windows,
for your signs, your laughter,
or your music. 
My love is still growing,
but it aches for your presence.
One day, it might grow,
to exalted heights of agony,
and will let me wither and die in this pain,
that love alone can give.