I wonder about the girl on the bus. The one near the back, with the dark eyes and the tear stained face. She gazes out at ongoing traffic, a distant look on her tired face, a silent dispair shines in her eyes as wet streaks trickle from beneath her damp lashes. Her body is still, wilted and unaffected by the hustle and bustle of the awakening city around her. I wonder what happened to her. I wonder why the tears, so early in the morning and why the searching look in her eyes. Perhaps she lost a loved one, a grandparent, a friend. Or maybe it's a painful anniversary and she's reliving some regretable decision or some tormenting event in painstaking detail. I watch her, I can't help it. Her eyes are wrought with dark emotion, yet her body is listless, rigid in its nothingness. She blinks as a fresh batch glistens down her cheek and she sits motionless, expressionless except for those eyes. They're shameless in their feeling, loud and soulful in their dark song to which tears dance eerily down her face. Maybe she had a heated argument with a lover the night before and she rides the bus home alone. Perhaps, who knows. Maybe she cut onions this morning before she left the house. I don't know, but I wonder about the girl on the bus.