sorrow

emotions aren't present in his tone, nor his face. 
yet, i can see how he feels. 
hell, i can feel what he feels. 
anger and confusion swarm through those beautiful, brown eyes. 
but he doesn't know i can see it. 
how does it feel to have someone read you like a book ?
a book that's pages are torn slightly, and the cover is beat with old age and a large crease on the corners proving the book is read often. 
yes, he is a book. 
a book no one can judge until they know the hidden messages laying inside. 
a book only one out of a million dare to read. 
a book that's words flow like a hymn in a church. 
a church so mighty as it stands tall that everyone surrounding bows to it. 
yes, everyone bows to it. 
but i can't tell you why there's only one small girl inside it. 
she's awfully petite, crying and begging about something incoherent. 
the people surrounding don't hear the girl's cries and pleads. 
their minds are too focused on the beauty of the church, not the hurting girl inside. 
do you realize how much that girl needed them to hear her ? 
she needed a reinsurance, so she clasped her hands together, pleading to the lord for someone to take her away from the nightmare she found herself in everyday. 
but still... no one heard that girl. 
it was too late. 
they found her dead body in a river weeks later. but nobody cried.