People who stay unknown

I sit here, looking out my window, thinking how every single person that walks past me has a life, a life that no one knows about when they’re behind closed doors. Mothers push their prams and take their children to school; fathers are dressed in suits that would cost more than my monthly rent; constantly checking their watches to make sure they’re not late for a business meeting; teenagers hang around shops with friend’s only to be stereotyped as troubled youths.

Every day we see the same type of person; the same man, woman or child, sticking to their ordinary routine; yet we don’t know their story, we only see what’s in front of us. So as I sit here, I am only witnessing these routines as one’s that are familiar to my own, we were all teenagers once; branded over what we look like on the outside, rather than what was on the inside; now we don’t have the freedom to act however, we are in a world where our routines and plans come first, and that’s how it will always be.
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