In a room full of people, I often feel like a ghost. Conversations swirl around me, vibrant and alive, yet I remain on the periphery, an observer to lives that seem effortlessly connected. There’s a hollowness in being overlooked, a quiet ache that settles in the spaces between words left unsaid.

I move through my days wearing a mask of normalcy, my thoughts a labyrinth that few care to navigate. Eyes glance past me, uninterested, unseeing. I wonder if they sense the depth beneath the surface, the complex landscape of my inner world. But no one asks, and I remain a solitary island in a sea of faces.

The longing to be seen, truly seen, is a silent plea I carry within. To have someone pause, look beyond the facade, and recognize the nuances that make me who I am. I crave that connection, the feeling of being known and understood, yet it remains elusive, a distant star in a vast, indifferent sky.

In the quiet moments, I wrestle with my invisibility, the weight of it pressing down. I yearn for the validation of a gaze that lingers, a voice that says, "I see you." But until then, I navigate the shadows, hoping that one day, someone will see through the veil and acknowledge the person hidden within.