Unseen Watcher

I stood pressed against the cold bus stop glass,

straps tight around my fingers, knuckles white.

That face lingered, half-seen in the cracked windowpane—

a shadow frozen in blinkless eyes.

He didn’t turn away, didn’t look down,

just watched like the street was mine to break.

The silence between us stretched long and raw,

a weight sinking past skin to bone.

Each breath felt borrowed,

a borrowed time clock ticking

while the cracked glass held his gaze like a trap.

I swallowed the chill that crawled up my spine,

and still he watched,

as if the world could fold back

just to fit inside that cracked, unmoving stare.

I wanted to look away, wanted to disappear.

But the eyes stayed,

quiet as guilt,

never blinking,

never gone.