The stain in the glass

Category: Writing and Poetry
In the window, by my room, I keep staring at the life passing by... the people running after hopeless dreams; the ones standing in the sidewalk, turning their head every way, just too afraid of risking... too afraid of getting ran over... and the wiser ones that walk, because they already now that there's no sense in getting tired... your destiny always catches up with you.
And I see you, staring at me, staring at you walking in circles by a bus stop, undecided, yet so determined. You know where you want to go, you know what's waiting for you... you're just not sure that you really want it.
And I understand you, as I have been sitting by this window, analizing everyone, every path, every failure, every person that never comes back to this window, but never actually getting the courage to step down and join the army of believers that still think there's a place where you go and feel... accomplished.
Is that secretly I depend on you walking by this space in time, letting me feel that I'm not alone, that you too have been staying at this bus stop, because I can't find it in me to forget that my fears are not unique, not one in a million, not unreadable, but so common, and true, and justifiable as yours... but you're just waiting for me to realize that... and I'm trapped in the vicious circle of feeling vulnerable.
Sometimes... I just feel I'm the glass in this window that is meant to be detailed, examined, wiped and beaten by the rain, scorched by the sun and forgotten by the light... in the shadows, the glimpses of light that manage to get thru, only enhance the imperfections, the damages of time, the things I try to hide behind raggy courtains that cover nothing.
'Cause just as me, you've been analizing, studying, and getting desperate. Everyday your wait is heavier, and I realize now that is because of me. 'Cause you got tired of me being a coward... and trying to escape life.
How can we manage to know? how do you know that if I take your hand I can walk with you? how can I trust you'll never let go? how? how do I shut my fears? how do I make me numb enough to feel life? how can I forget about the blemishes in the surface and pretend that one bad day the stains will be too opaque, too dark to see life anymore?
You touch the glass... and for a minute, it seems too fragile to bear such an invasion... You're the one to know that under the fire, such fears, can only become liquid.