I watch them—talking, laughing, living—
as if the world were meant to be touched,
as if joy were something real, something graspable.
And I wonder, is it me who stands apart,
or have I simply woken to a truth they cannot see?

I try.
I speak, I smile, I step forward—
but the words taste foreign in my mouth,
the laughter sounds borrowed,
and every step feels like walking on ice
that will never hold my weight.

How strange it is, to yearn for closeness,
yet recoil from every outstretched hand.
To stand in a crowded room
and feel more alone than in the dead of night.

Perhaps there is a wall between me and them—
invisible, impenetrable.
Or perhaps the wall is me,
and there is no way out.