I move through streets like shadows drift,  

Wrapped in a cloak, a hazy mist,  

Half-seen, half-known, yet wholly real,  

A thing you glance at, never feel.

Eyes slide over, glance then pass,  

Like a stone in water, sinking fast.  

Unseen, unheard, untouched, unknown—  

An echo of what you might have shown.

I touch the world like fingertips  

Skimming the surface, quick and swift,  

But no hand comes to reach for mine,  

No arms to circle, hold, entwine.

The sun dips low, its amber spill  

Across the evening city, still—  

The world glows gold, as if it might  

Burn just for me, to hold, to light.

But nothing reaches; nothing stays.  

The light shifts back; the shadow plays.  

I walk alone on crowded streets,  

Where every stranger’s eyes retreat.

Each step I take is feather-quiet,  

Brushing past them, barely slight.  

Invisible threads, like spider silk,  

Weave me from dust and dreams and guilt.

They see my face, my shape, my name—  

But I am ghostly, half in flame.  

Untouchable, like morning fog,  

Drifting silent through the smog.

I am the girl behind the glass,  

A memory, an image cast,  

A statue in a museum case—  

Look but don’t touch, and know your place.

I watch the world with open eyes,  

As time drifts past and feeling dies.  

The warmth I crave, the human weight,  

A laugh, a glance, some slight embrace.

Oh, to be held like soil holds roots,  

Or like the sky enfolds the blue,  

To be wrapped up, entire, whole,  

A soul to match a restless soul.

But I, the Untouchable, remain—  

With longing hidden, held like rain  

That never falls, just hovers there,  

And drifts, and settles, filling air.

There was a time—I think it’s true—  

When someone looked and almost knew  

The shape of me, the pulse inside,  

The endless tides I could not hide.

But they moved on, as people do,  

Left me a ghost, a shade, a view.  

Their warmth brushed past me, barely felt,  

Then slipped away, like snow that melts.

Once, I thought that I could call  

Someone to break this endless fall,  

To reach across and touch my skin,  

To find the life that beats within.

But no one reached; no one dared,  

As if I were too much to bear—  

Or maybe just too faint a thing,  

Some fragile wisp not worth the cling.

So now I wander, slow and light,  

Untouched, unseen, a wraith in night,  

Wandering streets, soft as a breeze,  

That stirs the leaves but leaves no crease.

Some say I am a figure lost,  

A woman locked in ice or frost.  

Some say I’m only what I seem,  

The shadow of a former dream.

Maybe it’s true, perhaps I died  

A thousand times by wish denied.  

Perhaps the world made up my name,  

A whispered word that fell like rain.

But here I stand, and here I stay,  

The Untouchable, night and day.  

You can’t reach me, though I stand  

Right here beside you, close at hand.

I am the one who slipped through cracks,  

The one the world let drift to black.  

A touchless soul, a silent sound,  

A thing that hovers, barely found.

Do not reach for me; do not try—  

I will slip right past, or die.  

You cannot hold what cannot stay,  

A mist that fades with light of day.

So on I drift, the Untouchable, lone,  

A woman carved from dust and stone,  

A spirit seen, a shadowed trace,  

That slips like water through this place.

And maybe somewhere, someone knows  

The way it feels to be so close  

To warmth and light and solid ground,  

To feel your heartbeat, feel the sound.

But I will float, and I will drift,  

A lonely, weightless, restless gift,  

And watch you all from just beyond,  

This place, this life, this heart gone numb.

For I am the one they cannot hold,  

The Untouchable, distant and cold,  

A woman in longing, barely there,  

The ghost you sense in evening air.

So here I walk, alone and light,  

The shadow slipping through the night,  

A wish unspoken, locked in glass—  

Look once at me, then let me pass.