These Nikes help me define me, but I'm trying to take mine, off.

Every face in the crowd has a story. The doe eyed girl you see wandering about with starry eyes, is fresh in town, complete with inflated dreams and sky-high goals. The man you see talking on the phone animatedly, just became a father. The woman crossing the street is a corporate head honcho who fought hard to become what she is today, coming a long way from being frowned upon by society for being a widow.  The old woman trudging along the road with her head held low- just lost her sole companion of eight years, her Golden Retriever. The middle-aged man whom you bumped into is practically immersed in debt. That girl with the pretty smile, has an eating disorder and insecurities that run bone-deep. The guy with the floppy hair gets humiliated at work daily. That bulky old man walking like a man on a mission, just found out that his three year old grandson was diagnosed with cancer. The youngster walking about with a wide smile plastered over face just had the woman of his dreams accept his proposal for marriage. The guy in the sunglasses just lost the opportunity of his life at work. The rotund kid waiting on the footpath gets bullied each day, every day. The woman in the neatly pressed saree walking with the large shopping bag, has a teenager back home who slit her wrists; the fear of loosing her clouds her mind all day, all night.

Everybody has problems of their own. Everybody has their demons. Everybody has their battles to fight. Everybody has a story of their own. Be willing to hear it before you judge.

The funny thing is, nobody ever knows how much pain somebody is going through. We could be standing right next to somebody who is completely broken and we wouldn't even know it.

Masks.
Facades.
Pretenses.