I see myself in a subway window,
Blurred by rain and blinking light.
I mouth hello. No one replies.
I look around;
there's no one—only empty seats and an unchanging silence,
But that face watching back,
Blurred, yet all too familiar.

It smiles. It cries. It screams.
I stand there, and see it wail,
Knowing of the countless times it will fail.

I stand and watch.
I don't feel it.
I think and judge—I am not that.
I'm a bystander. A watcher. A reader.
No more, no less.

But still, the glass holds the truth.
The cracks on it belie my truth.
Eventually, it will crack,
And so together will I.