Walking Home

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There was a woman who walked the streets of my neighborhood. I haven’t seen her in a while, but for almost two years, I saw her. She walked the streets, sometimes with her hair in curlers and sometimes fully coifed, her head tilted up a little, not quite like she was looking towards heaven, and never a smile on her face. Her gait was ambling, less than purposeful, and honestly and without malice, she didn’t look quite right. In the head, you know. She didn’t seem to be in pain, at least not the physical kind, nor did she look like a stroke sufferer, she was always alone. She wasn’t walking to get in shape, she was already thin,  but I can tell you that woman clocked hundreds of miles just walking, all times of the day, heat or cold, rain or shine. I never spoke with her, but in my heart I knew from the first time I saw her, what she was doing.

She was pain walking.

Sometimes there are things