She was there.
If she cannot find her, she looks for her there.
She sometimes find her,
with a pen in her hand and a paper.
She writes. She just writes.
She can see her but she will never bother.
she lets her be.
Lets her drown deeper and deeper in her thoughts and feelings.
She knows that she thinks that nobody can understand her but the pen and paper in her hand.
She saw her, she just writes.
Letting the feelings flow in her bloodstreams through the pen in her right hand.
She saw her sit on the bench and thought she’ll never look at that bench the same way again.
Because it feels like hers.
She saw her scribble, faster and faster.
Afraid that her thoughts might suddenly escape and leave her hanging in the open; forgotten.
She saw her gaze up;,
and she stood up and walk by her own; alone and no one will bother.