They drift in plain sight,
Faces pale beneath streetlights,
Hands empty, yet reaching
For a life they left behind.
They stand in line at the coffee shop,
Smile at the cashier,
Wave to a friend—
And vanish from memory the moment you look away.
Their laughter slips through cracks in the sidewalk,
A whisper in the hum of passing cars.
No shadow betrays them, no echo marks their step,
Yet something tugs at the corner of your mind:
A familiarity you cannot place.
They ride the subway at rush hour,
Sit beside you in silence,
Listen to your conversation,
And fold back into the crowd,
Unseen, unfelt, unforgotten by none who notice.
Sometimes, late at night,
When the world is soft and still,
You feel them brush past your arm,
And wonder if the warmth of life
Was ever really yours alone.
The dead walk among us unnoticed.
Look closer. They are there.