And she was gone,
Dead in her bottle red boots and faded black cat t-shirt
Her ballet bun reminiscent against her pale face and violet lined eyes,
Closed to the street.
But who would really see?
Although one death is a tragedy while a million is a statistic soon everyone forgets that one death;
They go about applying their mask of ignorance once more.
The road is paved over every few years covering her blood and memory, allowing children to ride their
handy bicycles on and no more is made it.
The girl, one similar to others in the hundreds, is lest forgotten.
Her face and thoughts dusted in the whispers of the birds.
With her faded black cat shirt blown away indifferent to
the rubble and chips of sidewalk.