Silhouettes on a wall and whispers through the air . Open secrets, hidden expressions. Romanticism and the mundane. Longing and routine.

These are the things I see, sitting here, watching. But no-one notices me. Do I observe things differently than those who are participating?

Always the same, over and over. Silhouettes and whispers. Secret worlds I am not a part of, meaning I don’t see.

Would it mean something if I participated, would it mean the same as those who participate? I don’t know. How can I know other’s hearts when I barely know my own?