I thought she might be skipping school.

I have this ongoing fantasy where
I'm a good kid and
you believe it.

Where life is blind and you
along with it because
I hold strangers
dearer than friends.

And for no popular logic
such as 'strangers
are just friends you haven't met yet.'

No.
It's more like they know something
I don't.
Things like first impressions,
politics I'll never care for,
a favourite color that
isn't my own.

People are just windows

To a soul
deserving recognition;
A name in need of
mention; an answer gasping
for a simple question that isn't
just a greeting.

How are you.
Because I mean it.
It might not be any
of my business
but neither is air.
I don't sell it.
I don't make it.
But I'll breathe it anyway,

the same way I hope to breathe life
into your smile and hope
into suffocating dreams.

It's no business of mine breathing
yet here I am.
Alive.