Do you find me strange in my strange ways? The way I walk, the way I talk. My voice, my choice. My gait, am I really straight? How do you look at someone and not pass judgement? I look at you and I pause momentarily. I gather my thoughts, before I start letting them run free. You seem strange. Different. Your singing, your humming, your happy. You lean forward and breathe on the window, fogging it up. Without thinking twice you start drawing out strange letters, which makes up strange words. My brows tense and I squint my eyes, making sure my -1.25 vision hasn’t deceived me. No. Your strange. Your happy and your humming as your hands wipe off the profanity that once lingered on the glass. You draw more letters, words, phrases. More profanity. I wonder if your okay. How strange. People look at you, wondering, judging, not knowing what to make of your obscene gesture, as you look around at their faces. They gape and frown. You seem happy by that reaction. You skip off, smugly. Do I seem strange to you? I sip my warm festive drink. I gaze around at the strange faces everywhere. The rush to be somewhere, the thought of retreating on your bed when you reach your humble abode, the warmth of his hand holding onto yours. I like these strange entities and their strange behaviours. You make my stay on this planet all the more beautiful.