Some souls are bound to tread the path of solitude,
Though crowds may gather, their hearts feel subdued.
It's more than just a mind or body adrift,
It's etched in the marrow, a painful rift.
Not simply the eyes, but a haunting awareness,
A cry for connection met with cold fairness.
Once burned, twice hesitant, they wear their scars,
Misjudged as distant, beneath the stars.
They wander through gatherings, yet feel so apart,
Their essence overshadowed, a weight on the heart.
In a world that forgets, their shadows grow tall,
A silent existence, where silence says it all.
