She's a girl whom you would see in a crowded coffee shop such as this; she's always smiling, wearing bright colors, but always alone. One look at her you'd say she's a pretty girl. Two looks and you'd say she looks like a happy person. At three looks you've caught her eyes and the thoughts you previously held about her are gone. Her eyes tell you story's, of sadness, fear and uncertainty, stories of things a woman of her age should not yet, nor ever, know. You want to inquire, to ask, to make the smile she puts out be one that comes from within. You want her to know the love and the joy that you know.
She gets up to leave and you want to stop her. You get up too, "hey" you call, and she looks over to you. A flash of hope hits her eyes, but you pause. What if you don't have the right words to say? What if you make a fool of yourself? The hope is fading from her eyes and you look away as you try to think of what to say. Your friends are approaching; you remember you had plans with them. What would they think if they saw you talking to her? You look back to her and she's not there, you look around but can't find her, she's gone.
Days go by and you see her picture on the news. They say she had been beaten to death, the day you saw her, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If only you had talked to her. If only you hadn't of cared about yourself, you hesitated and now she gone for good. All you can do is pray, and you do. You pray that she talked to someone else, that someone told her and that she's in the place of no suffering and pain; that she met the savior. You pray and pray until your thoughts are on only her.
Then you feel it and as much as you wish it wasn't true it is. It hurts more than anything you've ever felt before.
Because you know, another moment has gone by and another soul has been lost.
Forever.
