I sit here, sandwich in one hand, scalding coffee in the other.
I sit watching people and life pass me by in the fading light, my mood languid, drifting, my mind blank, gaze fixed into the middle of nowhere. No one sees me, no one knows me, my fellows pass anonymously, their busy lives a grey blur, a never-ending rush.
The cool autumn breeze caresses my face and shudders the trees, their frail leafs sighing in soft tones, the quiet blue sky fails to warm my faded ardour, my life and stature are nothing in the face of the world.
I wish to be among the passing crowds, I wish that they knew me as I know myself and saw my world, if only for an instance.
Around me squat, grayscale buildings of ambition and money are replete with serious faces, bored with routine and status. Their goldfish bowl windows a busy jumble of card and paper refuse. Their world in a glass partition.
I am on the outside dreaming of a way in, the fascia blank and indifferent, excluding me.
I sit and wish for direction, a step forward, a helping hand.