I See Hurt, When I Look At Her

I see hurt. When I look at her. These were the first few words said in the movie I recently watched.

I see hurt, when I look at her. Yet she walks in the crowded hallway of school every day, dressed to the nine, chin up, shining black hair brushed neatly in place. Coffee every morning because caffeine keeps her walking, the warmth of the bittersweet drink that leaves a comforting aftertaste with a burning cigarette clasped between her index and middle finger which she uses to flip reckless drivers off occasionally on the road. With a purple diary buried in her charles and keith bag, she didn't want to write. She didn't feel like writing, yet different kinds of emotions are running through her mind that she wished she could express in words but nothing seemed to flow when she held her pen. No right description could even describe what she was feeling. She saw a group of beautiful people, laughing with their sunglasses covering their eyes, glamorous clothes, walking in a pack, approaching where she sat. She forced a smile knowing that was the last thing she wanted to do these days, but seeing her friends seem to make her day.