i look at that girl and i wonder what she is thinking.

i wonder if she is happy,
or if she ever will be happy,
or if happiness is even a plausible thing anymore.

she doesn’t seem unhappy,
but even appearances can’t be trusted these days.

i search for clues in her darting eyes,
and her fidgeting hands,
and her eyebrows;
furrowing and unfurrowing incessantly
as if she can’t make up her own mind herself.

looking at that girl,
i can not even seem to realize that she is me.