The Unobserved
In passing I see you,
a stranger, a person entirely separate from my life.
I can wonder about your life.
I can look at you with a skewed idea of what I think you are,
of how your life proceeds.
I can look at your clothes,
observe your appearance,
and quite quickly concoct a fantasy of who you might be.
I can place you in a niche, a little cubby hole where my judgements reside.
I can even disregard you once I have so adroitly labeled you.
But as I spend my mental energy doing so,
the truth floats by me quietly, softly, unobserved.
I miss what my perceptions can not catch.
I miss you entirely and instead attach a fabrication to your face.
For my arrogance assumes what is impossible for any human to see,
what is truly in another’s heart,
in another’s existence, another’s experience.
And the truth softly passes me by unobserved.
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