Me and the people I hang with, we’re the lost ones. We’re the strangers, unfamiliar to most.
And you laugh at us.
You mock us because we’re different, you sneer at our struggles, you scorn our wardrobe choices, you ridicule our mannerisms, and you don’t ever want to look at us – and yet you look. All the time.
We’re attractive. And so are our problems.
Our problems are attractive until you’re so close they start to feel like yours.
Our problems are attractive ’till you realize we’re just mirrors. Just mirrors reflecting what’s there to reflect. Which is you.
We are you.
You’re your own worst stranger.