Bright Homes

Something feels awry
Within me lately.
My soul feels transparent,
Thin and faded.

As if,
I’m a ghost,
Moving languidly,
Invisible.

As if,
I am operating
Outside of the world.
A spectral spectator.

As if,
I’m looking into
The bright homes of strangers,
Peering in on their lives.

At the warmth
Behind their windows.
The movement.
The laughter.
The ordinary things
I cannot reach.

As if,
I float down their street,
Hopelessly.
Lost in the dark.