Like a Whirlwind

Running for the train, just like every single day

There is this young girl which comes running by me every day at 6 o'clock. Whenever she passes there's a faint scent of vanilla left in the air. In her quake a rain of dark brown hair follows, wildly jumping in the wind. Her eyes of deep brown chocolate seeds sparkle with an excitement I wish I could taste. There is a pure bliss aura around her, which enraptures me every single time. There is no fear in her steps. There is no time to hesitate, while I merely contemplate.
There's power in rushing through the streets like there's no tomorrow and she exudes it... That braveness is captivating, tantalizing even. She doesn't seem to care if her bra straps show or if her skirt flips too high for decency's standards, she's just free and she doesn't care for anything else but the wind.

She is free like a whirlwind...

I hear the train's horn in the distance and there she is running wildly down the street. I fear for her safety, for even when cars race down the street, mere inches from her, she doesn't stop, she doesn't hesitate. She just runs until her footsteps are out of my reach and I hear the train's horn blare away. There she goes. Another day, another run and as I smile sheepishly she flies away on the same old dusty train as always, like every single day.