I don’t know your name, but I see you walk by every day. I want to reach out to you, talk to you, get to know you. Where are you from, where are you going? Why are you so sad?
Perhaps it’s not you who is sad. Perhaps I am merely projecting my own thoughts and opinions onto you, ideas which you have no comprehension of. You have probably never seen me, staring out into the slow traffic as you walk by in the drizzling wet rain of spring. I can’t help but stare as you pass by the window, your body language inviting but guarded.
I would love to invite you in, make you some coffee, and find out everything there is to know about you. I want to make you happy, make you feel loved. I want you to know that despite all the sadness in the world, that you can still be happy. That would make me happy.
But I can’t. Because you don’t exist. Because that window through which I watch you is one in my own mind. And that’s the saddest thing about you.