hello again

Whever I looked at people I try to peg them.

As who I think they try to be, as who I think they don't want to be seen as.

I know enough to know that people are more complicated then that. Everyone lives a lifetime.
Everyone wants, everyone goes without, everyone tries to be something more. When I walk through a crowded room, or better yet through a surging corridor, it often occurs to me the marvel that every one of them has a soul. Every one of them is looking for an assurance that they're not really alone. Every one of them must think around those lines.

And yet how many of them are really happy.

I can't be the only one marvelled by that. I lose sight of it all the time myself. I try to finish people's sentences under my breath before they themselves can gather the words. I pretend that I'm better then them. That I know more and feel more.

But doesn't everyone feel exalted by their own, readily accessible, perspective? Or is it just me that stares at a classroom of younger students and looks for some anolog of myself. I look for someone staring past everything.

I've never found one.

At the end of the day I've only made myself clever enough to recognize the bitter irony of my life, bored enogh to dismiss good people, and myself wish all the girls that catch my eye were as lonely as me.