Walking down the crowded hallway. Watching as the faces pass me by. I see them, watch them, observe them. I can see into their hearts and minds, see their darkest secrets. But do they see me? Can they look into my soul, like I theirs? Do they even give me a slight glance, as I walk past them in the hallway. Or do they just see the shadow of my existence, and mistake it for vision of the mind? I know what they see. I've put myself into their shoes numerous times. They see nothing, not even the ghost of my being. They can't see my heart, stuffed into the dankest, darkest crevice of my soul. When I think of it, not even I can see that. Yet now I realize, this is how it will always be. I could change that, though, and become a force to reckon with, to see, to notice. But I've grown accustomed to being invisible, to knowing and observing everything. For that is the life that I willingly took up. It makes me laugh, to even think about living any other way. I can't even put into words how comical and outrageous it would be to have me, the observer, become the observed. To stoop to the level of blocking everything out of my mind, just to be seen. What kind of life would that be, to know nothing, to be entrusted with not even a morsel of a secret. I couldn't live that way. I am the shoulder to cry on, the quiet figure that is told everything, but repeats nothing. I am the wallflower, and I see everything.