DeTaCheD 

She rests her chin on the knuckles of her right hand and looks at the road outside. There’s absolutely nothing to see. And the act isn’t called seeing but rather staring at nothing. She’s not looking at them, she’s looking past them. Somewhere beyond all the materialistic crap. A detached, dejected look.

There’s a certain picture of herself in her mind. She thinks that’s exactly the way she is looking at the moment. Head facing the window clearly indicating her mood. Wants to see no “Person” anymore. Maybe its hunger, maybe anger. Or maybe she’s just going nuts by the ongoing conversation between two guys standing nearby whose topic changes with the change of her actions.

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