As a teen, I used to stare out my window and watch the few people walk by with a dog, a child, or just by themselves.
Sometimes I’d catch a flower of the Jacaranda tree float down almost magically placing itself amongst the trodden browned blooms stuck to the cement.
And if a walker stepped on it, my heart would break just a little that such a perfect bloom would become just like the rest, once beautiful and light now smeared with sticky sap turning brown, just like the rest.
Once I saw my best friend walking past with my other friend. They walked passed and didn’t stop to ask me out or say hi.
I felt nothing. A little relieved that I didn’t have to leave my place watching the world both still and alive.