From here,
i can see all the things
you'd rather hide among the others.

the numbers we carry
in our bags full of history
(books and past)
often hidden beneath layers
attempting to hide
covered by intentions to warm:
we've all become one in the same.

i hide an affection for comfort
anything willing to help ease
the search for a fill.

for you, maybe an aversion to
anything too honest, too real
too easy to grasp and hold on to.

if you remember to look inside
houses you drive by,
search for answered in closed rooms
open windows
you'd find beauty:
your own, mine.