The girl

Everyday at the fifth stop of the bus
A girl entered wearing long sleeves
With her head down always
She chose the same corner seat
And never once lifted her eyes
It was a shame because her eyes
Were like a warm sunny day
And deep like the forest
One day she wore a plain T-shirt
Which revealed the scars on her hand
What no one knew or will ever know
Was the wounds in her heart were deeper.

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