Sometimes I wish others would see things as I do.

Chairs, at a coffee shop. Ordinary chairs.

But sturdy and strong, many discussions passing over and through them.

They have their own story.

Or a mirror. Just a mirror, right?

Only I see it as another world.

Perhaps others can see through my eyes. See the color, the history, the stories.

But they have their own secret sights, their own places that they dwell in.

To me, that is comforting.