As the rain droplets graze the empty window sill,
I sit and ponder
silly dreams of sonder.
As I face the barren passersby,
I question their purpose
or lack of purpose.
Everyone seems so insignificant.
A desolate perspective it seems,
but alas no counter to differentiate their screams.
These people will all lead to live various lives,
yet no one will save them from the knives.
Oblivious to each elaborate journey,
regardless, death will spare no mercy.
I dream of an insubstantial life such as theirs.
For it to seem as such,
no one cares.
Abby Hill Writings 