A poem I wrote in the library one time

I sit by the raindrop stained window
And look past my faint reflection
At the treetops quivering in the frosty wind.
I watch all the people stroll past.
Sometimes alone, looking lonely.
Or tired.
Or sad.
Only a few smile.
But only when they trip over their feet
And laugh about with another someone.
Their laughs are silent to me.
No one looks at me
But I am a no one myself.
Just a face behind the glass,
With eyes masked by the window tint
That hold as much of a story as theirs do.
Everyone
Keeps an entire world inside their skull
Confined to the bone walls.
Somehow my invisibility
(And the perhaps the sun shining on the dried raindrops)
Allows me to see the colours
Seeping through their ears,
Reminding me
That if everyone’s skulls were cracked open,
The world would not be able to hold
All the colours.

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