On the outside, looking in

I hold this to be true - it's better to make life happen than to have it just happen to you. 

Yet so many days I feel like an observer. Just a girl peeping in through windows, glancing at life happening to others. They perhaps did make it happen, it didn't just happen, I don't know. Somehow, I am fixed though and no cars move on my lane. I don't struggle. I just can't seem to move. There is no room of my own to look at. But maybe it's because you don't engage with it as a spectator, it's what you live in.

It's a weird feeling. You're there and like those bullets in The Matrix, time seems to speed by. It's a visual cue that makes more sense when you think of how time is imaginary like those bullets but just like them, they have a bearing in real life.

It's not sad. It's like when it rains and you sit in a car and look at the raindrops. Slowly you get hypnotized into thoughts by the familiar sound of them falling on the roof of the car. The abstract pattern of the rain outside and the routine sound fall into a rhythm. Suddenly, you're just not there anymore. You're in the car, safe and sound but you're also just not there anymore and don't want to seem to leave.