The last things she said were the first I heard

"You have to believe me.", she said, talking into her phone. I was waiting for my bus back home when I heard her say this. On her left hand was a half-burnt cigarette. The wind spread the strong stench of the cigarette my way. She wore a milk white dress with red dots lining the borders of her cuff. Hair tied in a bun. She looked, I daresay, defeated. I am not very sure why I felt that way, but if you were there, you would have felt the same too. It could have been a failed attempt at love(not everyone has their way with love), failure to love, or the worst kind: failure in life. Yes, there is a difference between 'at love' and 'to love'. Huge one at that. You just need to give it a context.

Her eyes looked tired, not the kind of tiredness induced by lack of sleep; this was different. One that is materialized due to a lack of being understood. It happens. You have been there, I have too. I wish I knew what her issue was. I couldn't have done anything about it though. Because unless you magically become that person, you can never have a proper understanding of their predicament, and without that understanding, you can accidentally end up doing more harm than good. But not knowing what her issue killed me. Then all of a sudden, she shot a glance at me, we eyeballed each other for a second. Was she reading my mind? I didn't look away. There was no need to. I was curious as to what those eyes said. That's the beauty with eyes: they always speak the truth (numbers do too). But I could see nothing in her eyes that suggested pain. Or otherwise. 


Two minutes later, she lit another cigarette and was puffing away. And I went back to the Fat Old Sun.