There are lives that pass us by
But we fail to recognize
The beauty in each one
There is a life
With habits
Little things they do
The little things they’ve done
But we fail to see that in others
They walk by us
In the store
In the library
And then they leave us
They die
We forget those little things
We never see those little things in the first place

The person sitting over there
In the comfy chair
Look at their life
Their events
What makes them?
What if, right now, they died
Sitting in that comfy chair
Did they deserve it?
Did they do something bad?
More importantly, did you live with them?

The people we see, if only for a moment, were to leave
We’d be losing so much more our ourselves
For never knowing them
For never feeling them
For never living with them


Feel free to offer critique or encouragement.

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