friend yearning to find, seek, create, and “be” . . . how we (myself included) follow a rhythm and hope to become conductors of music. How we strive to mouth words and call it song whilst deep within we feel void of melody. We sit beside each other in an illusive isolation hoping the invisible window panes we’ve been made to believe are actually real. A separation we’ve been told follows a “norm” of existence and is made to endure. . . though privately causes us to question “is this man-made too?”

The window pane between us is closed shut. I can see you and I know you can hear and see me too, yet the norm prevails and conquers our realities.  A norm that ceases the opportunity for me to get to know you - and not “y” “o” “u”, but you; the beauty beyond the literal, beyond the physical. 

So, from this side of the window my eye does a subtle glance up and around to see whether yours is doing the same. Though I dread the thought of our eyes locking - because what then do we do? What do we say? How do we proceed in the midst of the awkwardness? Despite it, I really hope that the power of one interlocked glance of acknowledgement can shatter the glass of our invisible barrier and welcome you here, or I there. That it may give us the opportunity to connect on the ground of being human. For no longer can I pretend, no longer can I conform to a perpetuated reality that brings angst, distance, and falsehood to ‘us’; to ‘me’.  

I hold my face and limbs tightly to not show the discomfort I force inward; out of peripheral view. Do you do that, too? Do you also sit with the bleeding of a mind and heart longing for connection, happiness, and a deepened sense of fulfilment? Because truth is: I see you. And I know you do too. For how possibly can essential components of one whole live divergently? We are one. 

So, friend on the other side of the window pane there, and there, and there: I hope you look up. I hope we intentionally lock glances. I want to get to know you, your story, your take on the story of humankind. I want to change this narrative . . .

Do you?

Written By: Juliana Simoes-Dadgar

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