Staring At Strangers -

And still I stare—not rude, but human— a quiet spy, a clumsy student. For in your walk, your scar, your yawn, I glimpse the light I’ve never drawn.

A furrowed brow, a bitten lip, a wedding ring’s faint silver slip. A child’s torn shoe, a soldier’s limp, a gaze that wanders, lost and dim. Staring at Strangers

What grief you tuck beneath your scarf. What dream you chase, what ghost you laugh. I’ll never know. The doors all close. The train pulls on. The stranger goes. And still I stare—not rude, but human— a