roots hidden deep below their soles

sometimes i selfishly think that what i can’t see and experience might not actually exist. that there is a world around me in layers and my awareness of those stratifications doesn’t affect them at all and if life is a series of imprints on an environment, interconnections and combinations, what happens to them when i am not a part of them. this is my life, my swirl of thoughts and that soup of inner dialogue clashes, mixes and melts with some of those i come in real contact with. though that rarely happens, otherwise, there is a feeling of externality, that the world is a dream. the people in the dream just fabrications with lives of their own but i am left with only ideas about what those lives might be like. their ice berg bodies walking around me, roots hidden deep below their soles. it reminds me that i am one of those ice bergs, frigid to others, sharing only the surface sounds until i connect in those rare occurrences with other roots. then its not even outside of me anyways, its a schism taking place in an underwater world of senses and buried rhythms. i hear others in their dance of the external, bodies pushing and tongues moving in meaningless hums and then i wonder what i witness, in the daily blur, why i seek out the roots of people i don’t even know. a craving to be affected by humans around me, to be reminded that we all exist together and in that we should care about the silence that continually haunts each one. The idea that when we are alone in a room, sounds cut, lights dimmed, a world outside can welcome us and peel us down to our most sensitive and listen without words or motions to the truth in us.