As I walk
The misty mountain trail,
That leads all the way up
To the clouds,
The breeze is less oxygen and more nostalgia.
The wind
Sings a song
From a longtime back
Almost
Folklore.
About when,
A wise old soul
Told me,
“People are like
Secret chambers,
Some with and some without
Windows”,
Sings the wind,
As I walk
Passing through
Many windows
Peeking into
Their chambers.
And just for those
Few moments,
I secretly look at people
Through the window
Of my chamber
And they look at me
Through theirs.
Isn’t it how
We look at people?
Through the prism of
Our own chambers
Our own Judgements
Our own traumas
Our own dreams
Our own wishes
Our own filtered narrative
That we so often confuse with reality.
As I secretly look at
Them
Through my filtered narrative
And they do the same,
Across we stand
peeking out of our windows,
Hoping to create something beautiful.
Something warm and kind.
Something that feels
Less of a window
And more of a home.
I wonder,
As I walk
The misty mountain trail,
That leads all the way to the clouds,
I don’t know know if this
Isn’t magic,
Then what is.❤️
