Her wispy brown hair blew in the wind

As she looked out over the trees from her window.

Her red rimmed eyes,

Filled with heartbreak and pain,

Could drive even the hardest of men to tears.

Why would that boy do this to her?

Could he not see she loved him?

Adored him?

Why?

Her eyes darted from the trees to her bedroom door,

To the bathroom door and back again.

I knew what she was thinking.

I always knew what she was thinking.

Her shaking body stood up from her seat and carried itself to the bathroom,

As though on autopilot.

I watched as her hand reached for the razor blade,

Which had been sitting on the edge of the sink for days,

Taunting me with the knowledge of what it could do.

Oh how I wish I could stop the heartbroken girl.

But she cannot see me.

I am no more than a ghost living in her room.

Watching silently and unnoticed while the world changed around me.