The little girl sighed as she watched people mill about on the streets below her window; the city was lively, but quiet all at once. While competing noise doused the landscape with an intense feeling of chaos, the little girl heard the silence. It drifted between a couple walking side by side though they did not meet each other's gaze, it weighed on the young man who just lost his mother and was now rushing to a job interview, it followed the elderly women who was pondering how to council her daughter, and it walked in the shadows of the little girl who watched them. She saw all of it, the things left unsaid, the quiet struggles, the pain, the heartache, and the despair.
She took a step back when she saw a young woman with fiery red hair cross the street, she wore dark clothing, her skin pale like a full moon on a crisp night. Her shoulders were hunched and she kept her gaze on her feet. The little girl immediately retrieved her notepad and wrote the words, ashamed and misunderstood. "You poor thing," the little girl remorsed, "you have been mistreated by your grandparents and long for freedom without restrictions, but with love." The little girl's heart ached as she continued watching, a young man, tall in stature, with black hair and brown eyes stopped to look up at the sky. Her pencil moved without much thought, depression and outcast. "You are so different from those around you, you don´t understand that you can find happiness in your uniqueness."
Again, the little girl searched the crowds, her shoulders growing heavier with each person she observed. A young lady laughed along with a group of girls, she was wildly dressed with bleached curly blonde hair. She had a tight smile, but her laugh appeared sincere. Mocked, unsure, and darkness. "It isn't fair is it? You shouldn't have to hide your pains."
A tear slipped down the little girl's cheek, "I can't stand this anymore." Retreating from the window she climbed atop her bed, she balanced precariously as she tore pages from her notepad and hung them among the sea of mirroring ones. Hundreds of people in pain and she saw this; she saw it all. Sighing, she collapsed cross legged on the bed. Glancing over the various notes on the wall she reached a hand underneath her bed and retrieved a small, leatherbound journal. Opening it up she added her own note to the inside of the first cover, Unseen, unheard, and never good enough.
Before she could do anything else, she was interrupted by a knock at her door. Tucking her journal underneath her arm she answered the door. Behind it stood a little boy, he had an abundance of freckles, silky brown hair, and the kindest hazel eyes. He glanced behind the little girl and saw her noted, "what are those?" He asked, gesturing to the papers.
"They're the things the people down there struggle with," the girl replied quietly.
"Do you watch them?" He asked,
She nodded, "may I see?" He suggested,
The little girl opened the door wider to allow him in and he went straight up to her written display. Some papers lay scattered on her nightstand, not yet hung up with the others. Silence floated between the two for a while, though the little girl was accustomed to listening to the silence.
Finally, the boy whispered. "What do you struggle with?" The little girl gulped, tucking her journal tighter to her chest. The little boy seemed to sense her fear as he turned to her, "it's alright. I'll let you see mine if I can see yours." She searched her mind for all the reasons to refuse his offer, but when she looked at him she couldn't make out what caused him pain like the others. He was different. Slowly, he lifted a small pocket notebook from his back pocket. He held it out to her as she gradually released her pressure on her journal and traded him.
They sat together on her bed, reading one another's journal; indeed, their lonely secrets. The little girl's heart swelled as she immersed herself in all the things that made this kind boy who he was. She was crying and laughing all at once, a wave of emotion that she was unfamiliar with. When she looked up, he was staring at her.
"What?" She asked, feeling a tinge of shame.
"You hold more pain then I would know how to." He breathed the words as if he could barely form them on his lips. "It's beautiful."
"And you," she said, "carry more of the other's pain than I would ever know how to. And you do it all with a mask." His face grew somber at this and she placed a hand over his to comfort him.
"Thank you," the little girl expressed.
"For what?" He asked,
She chuckled, "for showing me that it´s possible for someone to discover your past not to punish you, but to understand how you need to be loved."