Transcendentalism

Car after car speeds by. The rumbling of engines and squealing of brakes desecrate the silence of the morning. It is early. The air is still, trapping me in a hazy box of frigid atmosphere. There is a tingling in my fingertips that precedes a numbness. Now I cannot feel. My hands tucked under my arms, I rock back and forth and watch warm breath escape my lips and turn to steam. There are trees. They are lonely, leafless, and lifeless in this winter. They look like skyscrapers that have been beaten by cruel weather and torn down before they could pierce the thin veil of mist that hovers just out of reach.
The footsteps of people walking by echo through my mind and recede into whatever empty crevice of my being they can find. They walk in a way that says they are happy; they are sure of themselves. They chatter amongst themselves, casting sideways glances at the freckled girl and giggling. They don't know what it's like to feel unwanted. They kick up the smell of oil that has sunk into the asphalt over the years as they pass. I can almost taste the exhaust that belches from each car that drives past.
I am crying now. I feel the warmth of tears streaking down my face and turned cold by the air. I can taste their salty bitterness as they reach my lips. No one hears my gasping sobs or pleas for help. Why? The sadness is on the inside: people can only see what you let them. To them, you look like you are waiting for someone, not like you are shattered and frail. One car stops. The rest are too busy: too rushed. No one has time for some torn-apart girl on the curb. No one has time to take a moment and ask, "How are you?"
The world doesn't care about people's problems. This is an evil place. The world will go on whether or not you are there to face it. The world is no respecter of age, gender, race, or religion. No one knows what you're going through, what you're struggling with, and what's on your mind. But everyone was once where you are: an outcast, passed up by the rest of humankind.
That one car that stopped backs up. This driver is bigger than the world, someone who cares. Screaming, crying, and fighting things on the inside can stop so you have some truth behind "I'm fine." It's comforting to know that there's someone who's looking out for your best interests behind the wheel of that one car. He asks, "Do you need help?" The car is idling. Its driver is waiting patiently for your answer. All you need to do is say "yes" and let him dry your tears and help you up.
You are never alone.