Be you

I feel like a stalker, but what am I doing wrong? Is it a crime to look through a window?

The cars are passing by, in a blur, and I stare, as one by one, a piece of someones life is merging with mine. For a second, a minute. I will never know who they are, what their name is, or anything about them. I may know what kind of car they drive. That says a lot about a person. It can tell me whether they are rich, or poor. Flashy, or conservative. Or, it may not tell me anything at all.

I may know what kind of dog they have. Or what they chose to wear today. I can tell stuff about a person by what they are carrying. A purse, or shopping bag. I can tell which store it is from.

But then again, I don't know much about them at all.

And I sit, and watch, as they pass by, one by one. And I wonder what it would be like if that were me, driving that flashy sports car, or walking that pretty dog. If I was the one walking with friends, laughing, and licking ice cream cones. My mind wanders, and wounds, making up stories of people, and places.

And then I return to this room, and my reality. I am me again. And that's just fine.