The beauty within her veins glows as she walks down the corridors. I see her often, in black jackets, in blue jeans, in skirts and shorts, and in different shapes and forms. One day she is blonde, the next she is a brunette. Sometimes, I see her lost in the world of her phone, shining as bright as the midday sun. I look at her until she lifts her head, only to look away. I have little meaningful to add to her waiting minutes. At the bus stop, she is with her friends, at work she is with clients and colleagues. It’s not easy to catch a real glimpse of who she is, to come close and ask her about her day and where she’s going. There is little I will really know about her.
We briefly cross paths only to separate and head into different directions whether morning or evening. I have known her as an acquaintance, as a friend, as a lover, and a stranger. I notice her on her way down on an escalator. I see her on her way up in an elevator. They say the world is separated by six degrees, by the people we know who know each other. I know her in different ways, as different people, from up close and afar. I will never understand what really makes her tick, why she speaks the way she does, what she’s really thinking about, or what would even make her really happy. I just watch her come and go, over and over again, and wonder.