You can see them everywhere. Sitting on corners, the ones sitting in the back row of every auditorium, invisible. The ones who don't belong.
You know who they are.
It's written in all that they do.
There is a label that brands them. Ugly, written on the sole of her shoe, know-it-all written on the line of his collarbone, loner etched on the rim of his hat.
And there are some who try to fit in, and some who don't.
The ones who try – they dumb themselves down and follow trends, mold themselves to fit what the others want, and try to forget that they don't really belong.
The ones who dye their hair and detach and pirce and shake the world upside down.
One of these thing is not like the other...
There are so many of them. The ones who don't belong. The belief that they are not meant to belong creeps and crawl, skating across the edge of a glance.
They are not alone.
We are not alone.
You are not alone.
I am not alone.
If only we had know we all were did-not-belong-ers-and-misfits-and-crazy-and-stran ge-and-a-lone-and-lost together.
If only we could find each other.