Pink

She sits—a solitary silhouette against a varied grey sky.
She sits hunched over her phone. Protective. Protecting.
The only motion—her dextrous thumbs. Expert communication.
Black jeans hug her frame and a black hoodie—its hood pulled up and cinched tight—covers most of her pale face.
Beside her on the metal bench rests a black water bottle. Just out of reach.
The only color she’s allowed herself this day are bright pink tennis shoes—the only Christmas gift her mother got right.
She wants you to think she’s older.
She wants you to leave her alone.
She wants you to pay attention.
Pay. Attention.
Pay with your attention.

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