I see her every single day. I can tell, when I look past what she's wearing, that she is pretty. Or at least that she once was. She looks tired now. Worn out by life.
Sometimes she's in a good mood. She sings. She hums. She smiles. Those days, I smile. I have more bounce in my step. She starts my day off right.
Other days, she seems to hate the world. She yells and curses. She seems to be in her own world. She talks to herself. Somehow those are the days that nothing seems to go right for me. I'm cranky, hungry, tired, my feet hurt.
Her mood impacts my mood.
I often wonder about her. How she got where she is in her life. What circumstances led up to her current situation. Did she have abusive parents? No parents? Was she a foster child? Does she have a family? She's always alone. Does her family know where she is? Where she lives? Where she spends her days? When I think about her too much, she makes me sad. I feel sorry for her.
She's the homeless woman who sits on the downtown platform of my subway stop. Though I pass her every day, I have never once said hi. Maybe she looks at me every day and feels sorry for me. She is free. She has no obligations. No cares. Maybe she loves her life.
Today, she was singing.
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