That was the first and last time I saw her. People say that there is beauty everywhere, that you have to look for it with your soul . It seems controversial to say that in a crowded subway station, full of hurrying and impatient people. But just look carefully and you will see all the peculiarities and all the strange beauty you are looking for.
I consider myself an inherent observer, I'm always looking for something peculiar in the midst of collective loneliness. I look at the happy faces, the sad ones, and some faces with hidden expression. I look at the shoes, the clothes that wear them, I look at what they have in their hands. I look and I wonder who that people are or what they would like to become, where they are going to. So many destinations are quickly ennobled, why?

It was in a queue to buy the subway ticket that happened. She was crestfallen, her eyes swollen and red, which strangely evidenced even more the bluish summer sky in her corneas. Her soul seemed despondent or doleful, or both. She was so sad, but her intrinsic beauty made her look like poetry, beautiful and painful . I'm not saying she was not vivid poetry, but if she was written poetry, she would be made up of sublime and human words. Her golden strands touched her pale skin and danced to the rhythm of the wind. She seemed to drift off when a girl, who was apparently her friend , told her everything would be okay in a mellifluous voice. As soon as she said it she walked away not to return, she had already bought the ticket and was leaving the queue, those words were a farewell, which made me realize the blond girl was alone.

At that moment the blue-eyed girl forced a smile, as if that second everything got better, but as soon as the other girl went away, her blue eyes couldn't endure it all. I mean, inside. I could see through the little window of blue frames, I felt that those words made it all harder. It seemed she knew that nothing would be alright. The blue eyes looked up as if they were looking for strength not to cry right there in that subway ticket queue, even though they probably had cried elsewhere. I felt that even though the golden-haired girl's world had collapsed shortly after the consolation phrase, she quickly gained the strength she sought. A strange impulse overwhelmed me, I wanted to hug her and let her cry for hours on my shoulder, I wanted to hear what had happened and try to help her, I wanted to kiss her forehead and say she would overcome all that because she was strong. She have always been.

It was her turn. But I did not want it to be, I did not have the time to do what I wanted or at least to offer a hug. I needed more time but the queue was slow, the girl was distancing herself from me and the urge to run to her increased. But the truth is that I could not do that, none of it. I was just a supporting actress in one of the thousands of scenes that made up that girl's movie. She did not even know what was going on in my world, nor did she know I was thinking about her. I do not know why the scene touched me so much, maybe because she needed to cry and didn't because it would seem ridiculous to cry in a subway ticket queue, or maybe because she did not have anyone with her, because she was alone when she desperately needed someone. I did not know who she was, what her name was, the reason for her anguish, but I subtly fell in love with the idea of ??who would be the deep-eyed ocean-like girl with strands that looked like puffs to gold and they were perfectly messed up. As I received the change of the ticket, the girl moved away and I tried not to lose sight of her, I quickly picked up the numerous coins, the ticket, and looked back again, but she was gone. She was gone forever. That was the first and last time I saw her.

It may seem frustrating the supposed fact that I won't ever know who the golden vivid poetry was, but when I wrote about her I made her eternal, being my words the only small but still remarkable thing between us.