For Real

I was driving the bus the other day
-as I do every day- and there was this young girl sitting abreast,
vis-à-vis, that is.
She was dressed in more than less old women's clothes
somewhat. A not so short, not so light, skirt, and very closed up
around the neck too. Her hands were folded. She was wearing glasses
Her eyes closed, I'm pretty sure she was praying.
And it did not look silly or I did not get angry, or annoyed.
I only saw, that it was beautiful. That she was.
As a person, as hope. However futile, unreal.
I had to look at her. Innocence; hurt. Youth.
Belief. It's not stupid of the brain to hold onto something
I think she must have suffered. To go to such fantasies.
Twas beauty if I ever saw it, a picture perfect.