it has no title

sometimes you get caught inside, looking down, looking in, the lines of small things fill your view, inviting you deeper inside still.
sometimes you get caught inside, like a surfer, wave after wave breaking on your head, pushing back all progress, you duck and dive to no avail.
sometimes you get caught inside, gazing out the window from your desk, onto sunny afternoon streets, and that photographer outside, he knows you well.
as your feeling has no title, he doesn't shoot.