Busy streets with busier folks. No conversations nor eye contact.
If you ask me, I prefer that. Because I don’t care much for idle talks, or meaningless rants (though I think that’s what’s going on in my head right now).
And these streets hold as much threat to my sanity, like the deserted alleys I walk in at night. It feels as empty, and has the same aura of lonely. So I stay at the side lines, always cautious that no one touches their skin on mine, or that I get to look into anyone’s eyes.
I try as much to avert the gaze of stiff-necked people. The beggar’s smile holds more warmth, so does the humble delivery guy. I tend to gravitate to them. They don’t make me feel so alone. Somehow, they see me important. And a smile is the only payment I can hand back. I feel human.
Everywhere you see signs and directions leading you to a certain destination. But do we get to where it should matter? Seldom.
And the traffic jam is so bad, the car’s blast their horns too much. Everyone is in a hurry, chasing after time. A second missed, and a life is lost. Sometimes, not literally, which is more brutal.
I get lost. Everyday. And the feeling of emptiness only subsides when I get home. I no longer hear the noise. And I whisper some thanks that I get through another day. And pray that the insane world stays outside and not in my head.