Short Story - The Nighttime Girl

Here's a short story I've been working on. I'm thinking about submitting it to a literary magazine. It actual came from a blog I wrote earlier. It started out as a poem, but the poem became more of a story, so I changed it. I'd love feedback.

The Nighttime Girl
By Em Frappier

Every night I stand at my window. The deep darkness has fallen, and it is the bewitching time between late night and early morning. The street is empty, save for her, the nighttime girl. She sits on the stoop across the street. I’ve seen her there often, almost every night. She’s an average girl, nothing all that special about her, except she cries. The intensity varies from night to night, but it always there. It’s part of who she is. I would never know her if we passed during the day. Without the pain, her face would be unremarkable.
Sometimes she speaks. Sometimes she screams at the sky, throwing her hands in the air and wailing. Other times her voice is low, and she wraps her arms around her legs, pulling her body into a tight ball on the step. No matter what I always hear her words. She knows I listen to her. Through her tears, she sees me, but we have never spoken. I listen and watch, and she cries.
Tonight she screams at the sky. Asking for a reason for her pain, but no answer comes. No answer ever comes. She rages and screams at the moon, then repents and begs forgiveness. The night is her lover, and their relationship is a tumultuous one. She’s afraid of being alone and simultaneously afraid of other people. She is mostly afraid of herself. Self-hatred pours from her lips. She screams into the night. It’s late, and I wonder where her parents are and why they do not come. She looks at me suddenly, and the screaming stops. She folds her hands calmly in her lap. The silence is heavy around us. Our eyes connect, and I cannot look away. She does not speak, but I hear her questions. She wants to express the darkness inside her and have someone understand. Her eyes accuse and never waver.
She wants me to help her, but I don’t. Part of me wants to hug her and tell her it will be alright, but I don’t know if it will be. I don’t want to lie to this girl. She would know. The desire to run is strong, but I have no where to go. So, I stay in my place at the window, and I do nothing. Every time, I do nothing.
The girl continues to look at me, challenging me to change and wondering why I will not help her. I don’t have an answer. Maybe I want her to stay the way she is. Perhaps I am afraid I will have to change if she does. Who am I without the nighttime girl? I don’t really want to know.
We stare at each other a while longer, unable to turn away. I do understand her. I have seen the world through her eyes, and I know her. The whole time she continues to cry. I marvel that she can have so many tears. I have always shed very few.
The girl looks away, and I am free. I quickly turn my back to her, unwilling to see anymore. Michael rolls over in bed. The moon is on my face, and I know he can see me. He doesn’t say anything as he slowly climbs out of bed and runs his hands over his face, fighting back the sleep his body craves. He stands behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. The girl has vanished into the darkness, and the street is quiet and empty. Michael turns me from the window and guides me back to bed. Once safely in his arms, I feel sleep come, but even as I begin to drift off I can hear the crying of the nighttime girl.