"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life."

I sit in my room and stare out the window at the passing cars. I try to count them but there are too many, too many lives, too much noise, never ending. Sometimes they move slowly, or stop at traffic lights, but I know eventually they will leave, and I will forget, ‘patterns,’ I think, ‘we live by them.’ I think of how there is at least one person in every one of those cars, one person my life has crossed paths with, and I look at them in their cars, the people that mean nothing. It makes me sad, how lonely it all is. How many lives intersect every day? Every year? I press my face against the glass and hold it there, trying desperately to not think, not even breathe, maybe if I pretend to not exist very very hard I just. Won’t. ‘Hello, cars,’ I whisper, but they do not hear me, I wonder if people don’t hear you have you spoken at all? If you don’t see anybody do you exist at all? ‘There is such a fine line,’ I think, between being real and being nothing. It is raining. The rain drips down the outside of the window, gathers in tiny puddles and spurts out, runs in another direction. If you shut your eyes a bit, it looks like the water is dancing. If you blur your eyes even more, it looks like the window is crying. And still, the cars pass by me.