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I have observed what goes on outside the french window so many times with more curiosity than just plain noseiness. Today the sky is bright blue and there is hardly a cloud in sight. The large trees that surround the street stand tall with thick chocolate brown trunks and long branches some thich and others thin. The wind sways the bright green summertime leaves back and fourth. So many different coloured flowers that only bloom in summer, colours of white, yellow, raspberry pinks and lilacs surround front gardens, some you can see planted in the soil others you can see peeking out of bushes twinkling like gem stones.


I don't suppose many people would be that interested in writing about what they see every day, most people get up at seven in the morning maybe sip coffee whilst they get ready to rush of to their nine to five lives, most people care about the more practical, logical things like making sure the tank in the car is full with petrol, others rush so they don't miss their buses or trains. There are very few that see things that are hidden, undiscovered and those things, the unseen things are the most beautiful of all.


You would think I would be outside the window inhaling the fresh air and enjoying the way the sun feels on my skin. You would think I would have a daily routine like most people do. You see all of us have options I could choose to go about every day life I could travel in the rush hour if I wanted to, I could do what I should be doing but I choose not to. You want to know why?, because if I choose to step outside I have to ask myself a question.


Who am I really when I step outside into the world?, If I could go back in time and observe me from outside the window I'd say I don't make eye contact with anyone just the floor, my body language is uncomfortable and the way I'm walking means I just want to get today over with and fast. I stay hidden in a crowd and on a one on one basis.


When I'm out there I wear a mask and a imaginary shield protects me from everyone and everything, I don't feel anything apart from the breeze in my hair and the sun on my skin. I could say who I am isn't who I'm meant to be, but maybe it is. Maybe the parts that I hate so much about myself like being socially awkward, maybe I am just meant to be that way. Maybe I wasn't born to fit in, maybe I was born to be the observer, the writer.


Most days I see the same three men walk past my house. The first man always walks past my house in the morning sometimes at nine sometimes at ten. He is tall and slender and looks in his thirites. No matter what the weather he always wears a long leather coat that flys out at the back when he walks, it kind of looks like a cloak. His black hair is always slicked back in that old fashioned way and his skin is so white and flawless and he always carries the same intense look on his face. He feels like an outcast, like he doesn't belong I can sense it from him. I don't see him as what other people might label him as, I look at him and I see hes just misunderstood with an old fashioned charm about him.


The second man walks past my house in the afternoon and he is young, in his twenties and he is lovely looking. He either wears a gray or a baby blue jump suit and I know he's a mechanic. He is a average size with blonde short hair and blue eyes, he always looks thoughful whilst he smokes his cigarette, I always feel like smokers smoke for a reason and that reason isn't to look cool. The last man that walks past my house is also tall his skin is a light olive tone and his face has so much bone structure to it he wears glasses and a hat with a dull green coloured coat and a dull colour gray rucksack, I can't sense as much from him as I can sense from the other two but I can tell he's not like most people.


Whenever I see these three men walk by I feel a kind of connection to them and I feel like maybe they feel alone like I do. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to open the door and walk up to each of them and tell them that I see them walk past my house every day and that I can sense their emotions, but that would be just weird. The truth is I don't know anything about them and I never will. We will never know absoloutly everything about everyone, we think we do but we don't. That's the mystery, the beautiful thing that is unseen.

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