Passerby's

Alone again, I watch the passers-by's.
Up and down these lost grey halls they wonder.
From room to room and there I am again, pushing by and trying to break through.
Do they not notice, the calm discontent, that ascends on their faces?
I do.
But then there is one who is gentle and sweet and takes time to say a simple, "Hello."
A few of them are like this, open, a thing that most close.
Alone again I watch the passer-by's.
Up and down the paths they wander.
And as they day grows into a cold evening, they put on sweaters and walk alone, home.
I walk apart and imagine the music in my head phones are the playlist of my heart.
I am a passer-by too.
But if I try and reach out, my hand isn't taken.
They are scared of being hurt and being left a mess.
And to be honest, I want to speak to you.
But since I am new this whole ball game of who - can - look - the - most - undisturbed, I back down.
That's what it's like in a new school.
You pass me by and smile in my direction.
Not as a passer-by, but as me, "Hello." I say.
And we both smile and walk opposite ways. 
You make my day, once again, and we, the passer-by's, keep walking.