Walking the streets, you see her. Just when sun has been swallowed and the stars take their place on the heavens, you see her. Always the same places. Always the same shoes. Scarred and dusty, just like the pavement on which she walks. Always the same jacket, zipped, hood pulled up. Never have you seen her face. Never you will. Face turned down, she walks. Thinking.
Her eyes fixed on something, but she does not see it. She sees not what is in front of her. She sees not what is right there. She cannot see what is present. For she sees far away. She sees things of which you will never see the likes. Things that no one, hopefully, will ever see. For they will be destroyed. They will break from the inside and be left empty.
They will be like her. Broken and shattered, but it cannot be seen.
For the outside is whole, but the inside is no longer. Eaten up by the thoughts from which she could not run. Shattered by the words from which she could not escape. Torn apart by the world in which she had to live. For she had no choice but to survive in this world. This world she did not want. This life for which she never asked.
The day she no longer walks the streets. Just when the sun has been swallowed and the stars has taken their place on the heavens. You will know.
She has claimed her place on the heavens amongst the stars.