Vagrant Occhiolism
Walking in the city streets, left me with occhiolism.
A quiet ache, a sudden prism:
that every stranger passing me by
holds a life as vast and deep as mine.
Behind each window, lit at night,
I dreamed the lives in amber light.
Some athirst for solace, thin and stark.
Others cloying in sybaritic, lost in dark.
A mindful presence.
A satori.
Hyperawareness.
Heightened perception—in slow motion.
-𝕬𝖇𝖇𝖊𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 𝕱 𝕸𝖆𝖓𝖑𝖊𝖌𝖗𝖔