She was on the border of melancholy, teetering for years now.
She smiled for everyone, she smiled genuinely,
she always smiled.
She was pretty and kind and
it was hard not to be fond of her.
But when she'd look through her papers,
and no one, she thought, was
paying any attention,
you'd see her thinking thoughts
that couldn't make her smile.
Sad thoughts about the times that
life had treated her badly.
And for these few moments,
her sadness became your own.
You'd say just about anything
to make her smile and
anything at all for her to confide within you.
(Although she won't, you know)
And you wonder,
wonder why.