Poor Billy Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

Billy sits by the window,
his hands tracing patterns
on the cold glass,
shapes only he can see.

The world outside moves,
fast, loud,
unreachable.
He watches,
but does not touch.

Words come to him like echoes,
distant,
fragmented,
their meaning lost
before they land.

In his bubble,
there is quiet,
a safety that no one else
can feel.
But in the quiet,
there is also space---
too much space.

Billy's smile flickers,
a brief light in the fog.
Het turns away,
back to his world,
where he is whole,
but alone.