People-watching

Average enough, in the looks department, I guess. I had nothing to do but watch, so I might as well ponder about the things I saw. Brown hair, fair eyes, blotchy skin, and lines already worn into her face from smiling, although she looked rather young. She wore no make-up, which I was sure would change with time. Then again, that skin looked like cosmetics would do more harm then good. There was evidence of a fading rash on her cheekbones, right about where blush is usually applied. 

She looked tired. It was more than the lack of makeup, or the bags under her eyes though. It was in the way her smile looked like she was struggling to lift weights hooked to the corners of her mouth. It was in the way that her eyes were tired, in their depths. It was also in the cup of coffee by her side. In the way her body was collapsed inwards, as though she was a piece of paper crumpled in frustration. 

She was tall, thin as a paper-cut, and carrying a backpack. That might explain the fatigue. I was willing to bet that she was also unsure of where her life would take her, and afraid of her future. She had the look of a poetic soul who had been coerced by her family into a degree stream she didn't want. I wondered what it was that she actually wanted out of life.

The bus pulled up to my stop, and I got up to leave, and watched the stranger mirror my moves exactly. Then, I hopped off the bus, and watched my reflection slide across the bus' windows as it pulled away. It disappeared in a puff of diesel smoke.