I walk in a bubble, unseen by any eye. Its boundaries are flexible and there are many layers. The limits of the bubble are my fault-lines.
Other people enter my bubble, because of blood, choice, geography and history. Some are like fixed features, others welcome visitors or passing acquaintances, but most are strangers: the people on the bus, the lady at the checkout, the delivery guy, the man on the street, the driver that just cut in.
If you cross my fault-lines, I have a responsibility for you. But if you’re in my bubble, then I’m in your bubble too.