“Bye,” she said to no one in particular.

Every single day of her life is like this. She meets people with fleeting glances; never looks them in the eye. She shares only enough of herself to be recognized on the surface, to avoid awkward situations. She answers when asked. Replies when spoken to. An aquaintance, but never a friend. Just a familiar face.

After all, she does not plan to stay here for long. So she figured, what’s the point of taking root, if she’d be eroded soon enough?

She keeps to herself. Pretends to be busy while she listens to songs about burning out so bright you leave an afterglow.

Can someone really live like that? She asks herself sometimes, on afternoons when she’d pretend to play music on headphones, but is really observing the people around her–listening to the candence in the way they speak, the bounce in the way they walk, the music in the way they live.

Some days she thinks maybe she doesn’t really want to be alone. Maybe she says she enjoys solitude only as an excuse while she waits for someone or something to turn her incandescent.

“Good morning,” she said to no one in particular.


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