There is a shadow across her face from the little rain cloud above her head. She says it’s the rain drops that are falling down her face but we all know it’s tears. She says goodbye as much as she says hello, but more often than not she walks by without saying a word. Her brown hair keeps her eyes hidden from view, it drapes around her face just like the cloak of hipster clothing she wears. Brown and black and gray are her colours and she prefers to use them as camouflage. She smiles softly and winces inwardly. No one knows her name, and fewer have seen her face. Her voice is quiet, and you wouldn’t know what was happening inside her head, even if you asked. Everyone pretends she doesn’t exist. She likes to shrink away into the shadows of her own mind. Maybe it’s her eyes, or maybe we just don’t know. I get the feeling no one asked. It’s the way she looks into the eyes of a little boy who is crying that tells us all she is human. But the only one who heard her smile were the people too far away to voice the truth.
There is a little shadow that flits down the hallway on summer evenings. I think I saw her ghost yesterday running through the empty rooms of this place. I would have waved, had I been sure. Instead I just whispered a soulful prayer hoping her voice gets heard before it’s too late for the next.