A billion times I’ve wondered am I a lot of different people to others or are others just different people to me

Possibly every time I’m exhausted after a long hard day’s work or fun I always have time for those two maybe one question

I watch from a window the human that drowns into love, it’s illusions and it’s realities

The human that has a way of taking pain, turning it into a corrosive acid right on her skin until it burns depths not purposed to be touched by it

The human that lives so freely, gives without being touched, laughs like nothing was ever so wrong as to change all that happiness is,

The human that stays within the shadows, holding silence as a sacred vow, uncertain if skins felt or souls lived, a look in the eyes that left me wondering is it attachment or detachment
Through this window I see  a lot of perspectives

Through this window I feel the same human

So why does it seem like in all my thought and through these perspectives that the human seems different yet still is the same person

And all these people in different scenarios within the same life seem intertwined without really touching the other

My human you’re a mystery

Clothed in a glory of tenderness so fragile yet overly powerful

So loving yet so scared theirs scales covering enough to let only time tell it’s tale

I’m touched by how my human lives yet keep a distance just to learn or maybe see what’s purposed for and by

I’ve built an alter for my human not to worship but to love by watching and learning

Someday my human might turn and watch me from perspectives I never saw of myself.


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