Tears on her doorstep

She waited on the porch, just like yesterday. It felt like she hadn't moved in ages. Maybe she did but it was so hard to be sure about anything anymore. Legs crossed, her head resting on a tiny hand, she sat fiddling with the ponytail that her thick, black hair was tied into. 

After what seemed like hours, or was it days, she moved to adjust her frock. When did she last change? She couldn't tell. She wondered how much patience was a virtue. Was she simply numb, or in denial? She couldn’t say where these lines were drawn. 

Even if she decided to move, would she actually get up and walk away ? No, she had decided that this cannot be futile. And so she hoped and she waited for him to come home. Questions churned around in her head, without answers or purpose. Who is he? Why should he come home? Why is she waiting for him ? How would she recognise him ? 

She stared out and tried to search amongst the passers by. In the sea of men and blank stares that crossed her porch everyday, could he have already passed? Finally, the fierce grip of futility squeezed so hard, it breathed life into her in the form of a tear. Slowly making its way out of the pool around her eyes, it slid down her tender cheeks and on to her porch. 

It was the end of yet another day, and she considered leaving the twilight and going back into her home. But the sorrow of his immense absence was far more alluring than the comfortable confines she ignored. 

Curiosity made her look down the street at neighbouring porches. Basking in diminishing light sat many other girls fiddling with their hair, and many other boys in solitary gloom. She wondered what they were waiting for. She stood up to look for tears on their doorstep, a tiny sparkle of twilight on their porch

She sat down again, staring at the place where that tear fell, hoping to see it again the next morning. A gentle affirmation that tomorrow will not be the same day as today. 

It was so hard to be sure about anything anymore.