Years of sitting in a window with direct sunlight had not been very flattering to this already worn doll. Her handmade, delicate clothing had become faded and moth-bitten. The once cherubic face, pink and glowing, had become blotchy and worn. Her eyes that long ago opened and closed, almost life-like, were stuck. Staring.
Long days spent looking out the window at the street. Her limited view of the world and how it works. It amazed her how people were always scurrying like worker ants. She realized and noticed that they never stopped to pay attention.
No one ever noticed her. No customers ever entered this dusty, desolate antique store. It was as if it was invisible to the hustle and bustle of the people. Yet, it had been there for as long as the street had.
She missed the girl with the yellow braids like her own. Her girl. The secrets told, the bike basket rides, soft sleeping breath. In those days, her eyes closed. Then, she actually knew what it was to rest with quiet content. Her girl grew up though. Eventually, the doll was moved from bed to closet to box and eventually to this window. Where she sits, watching and waiting.
Hoping against all unlikely hope that someday someone will stop their rush, just for a moment, see her in the window, and take her home. Until that day comes, she sits fading in the window, unblinking doll eyes, watching her world rush by.