I wonder what it’s like to be that girl.

I wonder what it’s like to be that girl. That girl— with white&black sneakers, with an over-sized hoodie and head sheltered from the rain, standing alone in a corner, engrossed in a phone conversation, looking all helpless, a tad bit drenched, petite, all alone, someone you’d really wanna protect even when you don’t know her. I wonder how would it feel to be in her shoes.
Big eyes, soft lips, worrisome face, partially hidden by the hood yet fragility oozing out effortlessly. I sit by the bus window, slowly passing by this slender figure, lost in her world, oblivious to how the world is perceiving her, more so, even be ready to go on a war to protect her.
She doesn’t have to try, doesn’t have to cry out loud, probably never had any crazy-pants moments to make people realize how hurt or how much in need she is.
People would run to send her troubles away into the thin air. Surprisingly, even me.
I wonder how relieved the feeling is to know you can let your guard down, show the world how vulnerable you are, admit helplessness through eyes and not be afraid of people judging you for showcasing a naked soul. I wonder how does it feel to be this free from your own entanglements of “I’ll manage”. Is this ‘being strong’ mean ?

What if I had been wrong all along? What if I learned the wrong meaning of ‘strength’?


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