I look out my window and recall how everything seemed to be so uncomplicated,
At 5, I saw the innumerable possibilities of things I could sculpt out of the mud
At 10, my imagination ran wild, tracing dragons in the clouds and celestial beings in the stars
At 15, my thoughts became refined as a I propounded upon the minutest of details like the potential of the lone dandelion swaying in the calm breeze
And now, at 17, looking out my window, despite all the wonders that I mused upon as I look out my window, I can not help but to be transfixed upon the,
Houses occupied by people I’ve never spoken to
The strides of people who don’t look like me
Visual expressions of people who don’t dress like me
Sounds of those who don’t speak the same language as I
The trot of a hearse as the procession leaves my neighbours house
Everything around me encased in a cold air,
We have isolated ourselves from those around us and are only partly content in our own bubbles
I feel as though we have to be more than just ourselves
Or flowers around graves will become a rarity
Entrapped in the tasteless pleasures of isolation
There will be endless moments when others need us
and we must alway by their sides
