Veiled vulnerability.

I peep through my fingers, my face veiled, at least that’s what I thought. Veiled from the thousands of other faces who stare at me everyday, who judge me, every single day. I remember my mother telling me, when I was younger, that the world won’t bother me if I stop looking. It hasn’t yet been proven correct or maybe I’m leaving glances.

I look at the man, with a scar on his face, sitting across the aisle, often stroking it, as if reassuring himself that it hadn’t disappeared. I don’t understand wounds. Scars are easier. They stick around, unlike people. He smiles at me as I stare, or as I’d like to believe, observe.

I like to believe in a lot of things. Things others might laugh at. You might think I am talking about magic, or maybe the supernatural. However, there are more absurdities in existence. Funny, right?

The woman beside me is trying to talk to me. I can see her lips moving, forming words I might have been able to comprehend but there is a ringing in my ears, far too loud for me to hear anything else.

I feel something touching my arm. I start and slowly open my eyes. The crowds rush past me, some bumping, others fleeting past. I stand exactly where I was. The world had moved on. I walk ahead, whistling and board the next train. The usual companions can find someone else to stare at. Like I will tonight.


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