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.