I often look at pictures of strangers and wonder where they are right now, what they're thinking, if they're doing alright. I look at the eyes that give up their secrets, I let myself wonder if they're the same people they're in that moment.
Are they alone, are they struggling, are they lost? Are they breaking, are they free? Are they someone I would have loved had I gotten the chance? Are their crooked eyes and wrinkled foreheads screaming behind a twisted smile, trying to tell me something? Who are they?
Not just their souls and in between the cracks and memories and broken bones, what kind of being, what kind of soul are they carrying? I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to find out. I don't know that we'll ever walk the same road or find our lives miraculously interviewed, because fate has made it so. Or will that face always just be that single face, that single picture, that single moment in a timeless life I'll never know?
Are they alone, are they struggling, are they lost? Are they breaking, are they free? Are they someone I would have loved had I gotten the chance? Are their crooked eyes and wrinkled foreheads screaming behind a twisted smile, trying to tell me something? Who are they?
Not just their souls and in between the cracks and memories and broken bones, what kind of being, what kind of soul are they carrying? I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to find out. I don't know that we'll ever walk the same road or find our lives miraculously interviewed, because fate has made it so. Or will that face always just be that single face, that single picture, that single moment in a timeless life I'll never know?
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