writting anything to get the flow going

She walked the crowded street looking down as her foot passed the cracks that separated one tile of sidewalk from the next.  She saw the legs of those passing by her and she couldn’t help but wonder how disconnected everything looked.  A sea of legs clothed in cotton, silk, stockings, and even bare legs swirling around her in a sort of dance.  She noticed her own legs, clothed in tight dark denim and wondered if her legs stuck out among all the others.  She figured they didn’t seeing as she was rarely noticed or acknowledged, which she loathed, but yet loved due to the comfort of hiding in the shadows of others.  She loathed the loneliness of it though and although the thought of it sometimes scared her, she dreamed of being able to stand as the attention of a crowd, as someone to be noticed and maybe even admired.  This dream was just that though: a dream.  Even now people practically barreled into her as if she was only an afterthought as they maneuver around her to continue on their path.  She felt so constrained in her skin because she felt like she had so much potential, but felt desperate that she would always remain as she was: plain and forgettable.