She went home - a little disheartened, a little upset. She knew not what she was feeling exactly, but she knew she was turning blue. 'I should be feeling happy,' she thought to herself. 'It was her birthday.'

She continued walking down the long dark path to the bus stop with her head slightly bowed. Many people brushed past her, and she surged with the crowd forward in an attempt to gain some ground. It was night, but people were still milling around the town. They were walking, talking and laughing, but she - she was walking to the beat of the green man blinking.

Looking at her, one would think she was alright. But take a closer look and you can see the darkened look in her eyes, the downturned loop of a smile. People always see such things, but know not how to deal with such. I am one of them.

It hurts that I'm standing here before the traffic light, staring at her yet she does not notice. I know she can't, but perversely against all hopes I still had hoped. I don't know what is happening, but - I just want to be able to help her, to touch her.

She continued her walk somberly, gazing at the ground. Her shoulders were slumped, and the spring in her step had all but disappeared.

I want to run towards her and shake her, telling her that it doesn't matter anything - that all I really wanted is to love her. But looking at her now, I doubt I can.

Its funny how best friends cannot tell each other things about their relationship. Its the same way with us. I know the reason she is feeling sad was because of us, yet I knew not precisely the reason why. Perhaps it is presumptous for me to term myself her best friend, and demanding for her to account her every minute to me. But seeing her so down and out, make me sad as well. It only drives me harder towards the brink, knowing that I cannot do much to help her.

The back view of her is getting smaller and smaller, her being is further and further away from me. My legs are yearning to run, but I here I still stand. I look down and stared at my half clenched fists miserably. It hurts to know. It hurts to feel. My eyes slowly look up, but it was too late. The lights had changed, and the cars started moving again. I can't reach her anymore.