She Can Only Cry

She cries and cries. There is nothing that she can do but cry. She looks at the sky, she cries. She looks at her own reflection in the mirror, she cries. She looks at the flowers she planted months ago in her small garden on the right side of her yard, she cries.

There are only tears, there, in her eyes, on her cheeks. Sometimes, on her blouse, on her hands, everywhere. There is nothing but tears.

Her neighbor, an old man of 40, never misses a single morning, looking at her from his balcony. He just watches and watches. He never says hi, or even waves his hand at her.

She knows that she has a spectator. But, she doesn't care. She doesn't need one.

He is now watching her again. But, this time, he has a telescope with him. He can see the details better now. He sees her tears. He feels sorry for her. He really does. He seems to be able to feel her pain although he doesn't know what causes it. He feels like crying, too. His heart is aching, wondering what has been done to her fragile heart.

She sees him, and his telescope.

Both his and the telescope's presence change nothing. She keeps crying. There is nothing she can do. She can only cry...for a reason that only she knows what.