I see you

woman-in-chair-i
There’s nothing sadder than a person who’s forced into introversion. Not by their own volition do they prefer the inner life but they are severed from societies acknowledgement.

They walk head bowed, sit on corners hands outreaching, souls tormented by bullying, domestic violence, oppressive colleagues, disrespectful children and more.

I make it a habit to acknowledge the unacknowledged. The destitute and void of attention. They’re so used to burying their heads in avoidance, it’s sometimes hard to get them to look up. To see someone else is looking at them. I see them.

I have an overwhelming propensity to see them.

I see their shoulders hunched forward, the elixir of life sucked out of them,

the hop in their step stolen, the spark in their eye, dulled.

I hear the tone in their voice laden with sorrows, I hear the pace of their breath heavy with impatience. Impatience for the next breath, hoping it doesn’t escape their reach, praying they can continue on for one more day.

There are no pillows soft enough to carry that weight, there are no nights long enough to dream away those states.
There are no foods satiating enough to fill the voids inside.
There is nothing that is enough.
Except one thing,

Humans.

I’m accustomed to the sentiment of solitude, I can function at a higher level, left alone, autonomous in my affairs. But they, they’re not introverted by nature. Society has battered them down and sullied their souls with stigmas of un-acceptance. So they compound and dwindle down into nothingness, think so little of themselves until their stares are into nothingness.

Interrupting that stare can be difficult, but I consider myself an artist of the soul and a sufferer of stigmas who’s stubbornness has made him refuse to accept nothingness as an empty desolate place, but rather a place where the infinite can dwell, as such, I have bathed in the beauty of nothingness and made it my familiar home.

I stare into their eyes, sad and emotionless in hopes to say “mi casa su casa”, make yourself comfortable, let me show you around, my pillows are soft, my walls are kind, my windows are bright and my floors are warm. My roof is strong and my door open, come and dwell my friend, enter my yard, into garden beds for the soul, feed the birds of hope and watch them fly with your dreams, and come back with certitude of their fulfilment. Don’t fret, I see you, because no one sees me.

-W.E.

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