Leaving

She always sits deep in thought, seeing the sunset, reminding home while drinking coffee without sugar.
She has lots of stories to say but believes no one's around interested in hearing.
She is probably alone but absolutely anxious.
She can recognize different faces around going and coming, talking in strange languages, using rarely familiar & sweet words, making her whisper:
"What the hell are you talking about?!"
She has right to think everyone could be a suicide bomber here but there is no where left to run.
She has to stay there and concentrate on her job, forgetting everything.
Now, I'm leaving her.

(I'm experiencing some kind of stories which have special meaning just for one)