I sit in the corner, watching lives pass me by. I don't wish to stand--only to be left alone. If they bother me, I will leave. They don't.

My eyes are gateways to another demension entirely, whereas theirs are unseeing of me. It almost funny to watch, the way they don't suspect a thing. I'm not worthy of being a clue. I bow my head, place it in my hands, and let the world take me on a journey.

My inner self is tugging at the want of letting this go, and tugging the other way is the need to let go. But the hard thing is always stronger, you see. So I will sit here, forever condemed to a life of staring.

My true happiness lies in all those years ago, when they could see me. Before I was gone. But then, as I stared out the window and knew at once my life was over, I was peaceful. Maybe if I had chosen another path the peace would have continued entirely. Instead it was shattered as I was unable to leave. I had never been good at letting things go.

I think they cried. I don't remeber. I was so grief-stricken myself I could only twine my hands together and want to go back. So I watched. And then, when I was done, it was too late to move on. The years passed and then they went away.

When she came back I would watch with love. She was so perfect--just as I'd want her to be. I felt her clinging to this part of me,too. And she would come and stand in the spot where I was found, and cry and cry. I wished to catch those tears. Maybe if I had gone when I was suppossed to it wouldn't have hurt so much.

Then the new people came. She left, with the last, unstable piece of my shattered heart. If only they had returned and held my hand, if only that then I would have been able to go on. Instead, I hid in my refuge and mulled over life.

My eyes hurt from watching. I saw everything, and everything hurts. Life can be so difficult at times. They had a girl, too. She was sweet and little. I saw each of her tears, and trivals, and then I needed to protect them.

The darkness lightened.

I sat in the same spot, and sometimes would move about the room. Then I would venture into the hallway and listen. I didn't go into her room after the incident. She didn't like me. I wished to see my own child once more, as I knew she wasn't gone like her mother. They didn't speak of her death.

Then they talked of me. My anger flared, and I tried to go once more. But I was too attached, to drawn to this place which had drained me of life. It was feeding off of my raw emotions. Soon they would be gone entirely. I would spend eternity floating about, not really living, and wishing that I was.

And here I still sit, over fifty years later. They know about me now, yes, and I see their eyes rake over the room as if searching for something. I smile to myself. No, they won't see me. I am unseeable. I have been for longer than I've been gone.

I wish they wouldn't know me. It's painful to realize their exsistence is more fruitful than mine. I want a release, someone to cut the cord that binds me. I wish for others to ease my pain, my longing desire to move on.

And then the relization hits: I am the only one who can relese me. There is no hope, for I am too weak anymore. Without a smile, a reason for loving, then I am stuck.

So I remain, a permenate part of the house. They move on as well. I sit there for thousands and thousands of years, far after it's down to a crumble. And yet, even billions of years later and after the universe is gone, I still sit in the same spot. I sit and sit and sit.

Staring.

**I would love to hear what YOU made of this peice. How did you relate to it, or were you unable to.