Image found on shutterstock.com

Image found on shutterstock.com

Fingertips tremble on frosted glass,

It’s warm inside, yet she is frozen.

Breath fogs her view,

She breathes in the scent of the merriment.

Laughing, talking, drinking, how have you been?

She is the outsider looking in.

She is of a feather,

But a flock apart from the rest.

The large tavern window is an impenetrable barrier,

A single hot tear rolls down her cold cheek.

Yearning spilling from her eyes,

Begging to belong.

Jealous of their happiness.

She is the same as others,

Yet invisible.

She shivers in the winter evening,

Alone.

Reluctantly, turning away from the window.

Shoulders drooped, she shuffles off into the night.

Wrapping her arms about herself

For warmth, craving comfort.

Her uneven breath leaves a trail behind her.

A mere ghost in the darkness.

Unnoticed; solitary.

She is of a feather,

But a flock apart from the rest.