ITS COMPLICATED

So here I am thinking this young lady I once knew;
So very beautiful, so very patient and so very nice;
If you had asked her to describe herself I'm certain she wouldn't use those words.

She was friendly as well, to a fault, some might even add;
Always had a smile on her face and her small shoulders were always ready to bear someone's head.
She could listen also; whenever you had troubles, she would listen and she always knew the right words to say to calm you down.

I saw her at a distance, coming down the lane; strolling with her hair in the wind and her eardrums blocked with a set of earphones.
As she walked, she unconsciously moved to the rhythm that was invisible to everyone else.
She smiles and waves to a passer by across the street; it seems she's popular.

Now, I am not a stalker but she fascinates me and I begin to wait for her everyday;
I watch her as she comes, sometimes in a cab, sometimes, someone drops her off, and sometimes, she strolls.
On this particular day, she walks down the street, wearing blue; but there's something in her smile that is not true.
She is sad, I can feel it. Yes, she gives a smile to people passing and stops to hug and greet them; she even manages to listen to someone's problems and yet, no one even notices that she is troubled. No one apart from me.

She stops and sits on a bench in the park; listening to her music and lost in her own world;
I approach just in time to see hear wipe a lonely tear drop and that little action compels me to action and I walk up to her.
I ask her if she would like to open up to a total stranger, a stranger she's never going to see again, I do not ask her for her name and she doesn't ask for mine.
She looks up at me and smiles, a beautiful smile that lights up her whole face and at the same time, illuminates me. Little wonder she is liked by all.
She speaks to me, not at me or through me but TO me;
She tells me she's lonely and hurting, she is craving something that no one has been able to give her.

And she's tired of trying, tired of hoping, tired of seeing potential in dead things;
She wants to be happy, she wants to talk and someone will listen, she wants to cry and know that there is someone who will wipe her tears; she wants to be loved.
She has so much to give but she can't find the person to give it to.

She's scared and scarred. She's been hurt, she's been depressed and she has this yearning, this insatiable hunger for someone who sees her as she really is: a woman with so much to share.
She talks and I listen and I am drawn to her.
She listens to music because that is the only thing that gives her comfort, no matter how flitting.
She craves something deep and lasting so she engages in giving a part of herself out hoping that someday, someone would give back to her.

She thanks me for listening and smiles at me, she still doesn't ask for my name and I do not ask for hers.
All she asks me is if I would be here, at this very same spot tomorrow,
And for me, she has just asked the most important question in the world.
I will definitely be there waiting for her, tomorrow and any other day she needs me.
She pats my hand and she's gone, leaving me with the delicate trail of her musky scent.

For once in my life, I feel fulfilled.
I feel I have given her something she will not forget.
I let her set the pace and I will follow, where ever she may lead.