The Pain Story.

There is a woman I see on a regular basis in one of the places where I go on a regular basis.  She smiles at me in recognition, but there is so much pain in her eyes.  Her eyes are dark, like they have seen all the things.  There is pain there.  You look in her eyes and want to look away because the pain.  It feels you.  I know that I am sometimes insightful, but I think her pain looks so raw that anyone would see it.  Like she has been through a soul war.  Like it has overtaken her.  But she's still fighting.  But it's taken a deep gash out of the side of her, and now she is still in the process of learning how to walk upright.  

     I've only ever made small talk with her.  My way of trying to reach out, introduce myself, say all the things that have been implied but never spoken out loud.  The "I see you here all the time and wanted to introduce myself, my name is Michelle" kind of stuff.  People react to this by...not really opening up back at you.  They kind of shrug their outer wall a bit and go, like, "huh.  What to make of this one."  Because I am a foreigner in a foreign land.  And this world is not my home.  And not only this world, but this city, too.  I'm actually not from these parts,  and have not adapted to the customs, one of which is, obviously, "leave people alone."  Well OK, I kind of do that but then that gets boring and I can't just not pretend I don't see you here on a regular basis, and I feel we've gotten past the "let's just smile in silence" stage, but maybe to YOU, there is no end to that stage.  So I just...exhale and keep seeing this person on a regular basis, keep wondering what the pain story is behind those eyes. 

She may never ever, like, you know, talk to me or stuff.  But her eyes have spoken and so I silently pray.  How I long to erase all of that sorrow for her.  

I long. 

(Love, Michelle)