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There are moments when you yearn to be just one amid many.
You pine for the blur of faces whooshing around you, the accidental brush of a hand on yours. To breathe in the air that has been cast-off by the surrounding throng; the intimacy, you crave it.
There is comfort to be taken in isolation, yes, but the loss of individuality holds a certain charm as well.
You want to forget- just for a while- to simply live and breathe, to step out and endure.
And so, you stand here pulsing in the heart of this crowd, and tell yourself that your bubble does not exist.
It is a relief then, this lie.
To let yourself be swept away by the ocean, by the mass of obscure grey shapes, your only duty to contribute to the beauty of the ensemble.
Within this crowd, you can tell yourself: perhaps for all your worries about a distinctive existence, you are nothing more than a single artery of a heart, pumping and throbbing on impulses from your milieu.
Here, your own decisions will reflect off the millions of facets of this glass sphere. Your behaviour can be formulaic, without blame and without pressure.
Here, you are merely a fish among a shoal, and the ocean does not move merely because your fins have grazed it.
Trapped within the jostle of elbows and shoulders, you are truly free.
Within this crowd, you are no one, and your insignificance has never been sweeter.