The People We Walk Past

We pass people every day and call it nothing.

A woman counting coins outside a bakery.

A man sleeping beneath a coat that was never made for winter.

A child learning too early how not to ask.

We give them names they never chose: lazy, dangerous, lost.

Anything that lets us keep walking.

But every stranger was once held by someone.

Every face has laughed in a kitchen, waited for a phone call, known the warmth of a bed, or dreamed of one.

Look again.

Not because you can save everyone, but because nobody should become invisible simply because their pain makes us uncomfortable.