Introspection

I have the tendency to fall in love with the way people interact. How they form their words, as if breathing invisible whispers that are to be swept up by the wind, never to be felt again. Like a tree, quietly swaying in the whispers, I sit and wait to be directly spoken to, or asked a question. I have this fascination with sitting in the background and observing how people stand and move, while they inadvertently chisel their existence permentantly on my skull. Reasons to why I am so obliviously caught up in things as such escape me. Maybe it's because I've been to afraid to live it out; I'm too afraid to walk up and live out what I am so earnestly trying to discern. I'm too afraid to let my branches grow, and intertwine with all of creation surrounding me.