Looking around, part 2
three more people
And the one you bumped shoulders with, your lifelong buddy, your partner in crime? He had learned to smile through bouts of diabolical depression he told no one about, not even you. The soft-faced young coed with eyes barely open, sank into herself, unable to forget how her uncle had raped her, saying it was “a farewell gift,” with a gleam in his wicked eye, the night before he flew off to Taiwan. A young lad, maybe 9 or 10, his father’s protective arm over he shoulders as he smiled, excited, thinking about their destination. I wished I knew where they were going, but I found it impertinent to ask them. to be continued . . . BG 03.12.26
The poem feels like a quiet reminder that every person we cross paths with carries a story we never see.
The friend hiding his depression hits hard, because it’s often the ones who smile the most who struggle the deepest.
The young woman’s trauma is devastating, and the poem doesn’t look away from how silently pain can live inside someone.
Her story lingers, heavy, like something she’s been forced to carry alone for far too long.
Then the boy appears, full of innocence, and the contrast almost breaks you.
There’s something tender in the narrator’s curiosity about him, wanting to know more but choosing not to intrude.
The poem makes you realize how little we truly understand about the people around us.
It shows how suffering and hope can exist side by side in the same crowd.
The writing feels honest, not dramatic just quietly observant and deeply human.
In the end, it leaves you looking at strangers with a softer, more compassionate heart.