the true strangers live with us

a box jam-packed with entirely different orbeez,
bound with one short ribbon that ties them all together.

each one grew in their own way;
some refused to grow,
some didn’t grow at all.
and everyone started growing apart.
one of them dreams of having scissors,
while another clings to the ribbon.

they touched the same walls,
stood on the same ground,
shared air, lives, and being,
but were unknown in all the things that mattered—
nothing more than faces in the same crowd.

scatter them outside the box,
and they'll realize that they were strangers all along.