We Are All Made From Each Other.

I am out at night because I can’t stand myself.

People are milling on the street. Nobody looks at me. They all look at each other as they pass, and the lights decorate their faces to be tall and luminous.
 

I wade out into the crowd and stand firmly in the middle of the street. The current does not change for me. It does not wash around me or come to a crashing stop. All the people move not only through me, but through each other like water.
 

Voices do not clatter and scrape like they usually do but rush and burble about things I know I hate - and still they talk about them, and still I say nothing about it
 

Someone brushes past me. Another bumps into me. I am swept off of my feet and carried away by the crowd.
 

All of these people are made from the same water as I am. All of these people dream when they go to sleep.

If there is hope in the world, it comes from other people. Not because of any great effort, but because hope is a natural product of personhood. 

Maybe that is what I have failed to understand.