The Weeping Girl

The weeping girl lays in the dark listening as the club goers walk home. The streets alive and tears roll down her face. The pain of being ignored. The pain of indifference fills her heart and mind. Alone with no one to empty out her bag. Pain in solitude is an emotion close to death. She wonders why, why must she face it alone? Why must she hold it in? The candle flickers and her heart is hurting. She left because she knew it will be the same. The same effect attached with the same cause. She is no longer surprised, but expects it; like routine of getting ready for work. She knows her role and though she wants to scream out in rage. She knows it will fall silent to those she wants it heard by. So she holds it, slams the door– out of impulse, but holds her hurt inside. It runs through her body– the yearning. All because she begs for them to care; to show that they care. She locks herself in a room and locks herself inside her heart.  The weeping girl hurts. They hear her weeping and all they do is walk by and leave her in the dark. She gets up, because she expects it. The surprise is no longer there. She feels sadden that she somehow accepted this part of her life. That she accepted being shut out, disregarded, and ignored. That her extended hands rejected by their reaction. So she leaves and sits in the dark and deals with the pain alone with how she learned to finally be. The weeping girl always hopes for change and difference; for they say that hope should always be the last thing that dies, but she believes it is the first.

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