She likes to watch the people, as they pass her by. She likes to see their eyes flicker to each other's, she likes to watch them breathe. She likes to see them smile, and hug, and kiss, she likes the contact and the comfort. She likes to see when he buys her flowers, and when she kisses him back, and he's happy. She likes to watch the people.

Her only wish, she tells herself, is to get out there, with all those pretty people, breathing with them, moving with them, being with them. She wants to meet the people who will kiss her cheeks in greeting, and the other people who will give her flowers and chocolates. She wants to feel the warmth of each person as they brush past. Oh, but she can't, she knows she can't, she can't, she can't.

Tonight, she prays. Prays to be with the others, to be part of it all. Prays to be involved, to be unified. Prays to be able to touch them. Because, that's all she really wants.

Morning comes, and she hopes she is free. She hopes to be able to reach out to all of them. She hopes, and so she proceeds.

And, for the briefest of moments, she is able, she is among them. She feels her soul lift up high into the clouds, with them all, and finally feels it.

Oh, but then. She notices something strange, something unusual, something she's never noticed before, through her mirror eyes. She notices the tears of the people, she notices the hurt on their expressions. She notices the aimlessness of their wanderings, and no longer is the drip-drip-dripping of each tiny raindrop so exciting anymore, no longer does she stand in awe. She looks harder, but only seems to push her people even more from forms of beauty to objects of selfish demands and desperation. She realises how free she truly was before. And all she can do is stand.

Night falls, and the people she loved dissapear, leaving just a few rushing around her, in and out of doors, refraining to hesitate, or even establish eye contact. She's waiting for someone to bring her the flowers, to kiss her, to greet her; Waiting for nobody, her tears fall from her cheek, devouring her entity, and no-one will stop to save her, to help her, to comfort her. The sun makes it's return, drying her icy tears, hardening them against her flesh. As dawn breaks, her very own wish casts her into a stone casket of solid sadness, and she becomes another statue, another centre-piece to brighten up their self indulgant lives.

______________________________________________

an old short story. cant remember when i wrote it.

part of a much larger story that's still in my head.