The Walking Woman

She thinks she’s ugly, because her face is a different shape. She walks in shadows and under over hangs, head held down, hugging close to buildings, to avoid being seen. Yet every morning I see her just the same, and every morning I say “Hi”, just the same. and every morning I hear a tiny little “Hello” echoed back to me from beneath the safe cover of her chestnut brown hair. But this morning I didn’t see her, time passed, and she didn’t, and I was concerned, and it saddened me to realize, that in her sad reality of life, I’m probably the only one.