Last night, as you silently wept and chocked back tears, I noticed.
Why do you hurt? Are you alone and forgotten? Have you been abandoned and lied to? What can be so terrible to cause a blissful façade by day and this sorrowful heap by night? Is it wrong for me to feel sorry for you? After all, what's wrong for me may be right for you. Still, I can't help but think of what some would give to have the choices you are choosing not to make. But then, I don't know you. Perhaps you're an artist waiting for inspiration or a writer seeking a muse. Yet, day after day for over a year now, I see you drift on by unnoticed as you fade further and further into obscurity and though my eye may have accidentally caught yours only once I wish I could ask you, why do you stay in prison when the door is wide open?
Can you see beauty even if not every day is pleasant? Or like a bird caged so long you've forgotten how to fly?