These glass walls seem liberating. They lie. They tease. They show you where you could be if you weren’t currently tied down to this chair, tied to this life. These never ending tasks weigh heavy on you, and you are tired. This constant stream drains the delight from it, squeezing it dry. And this is not what you wanted it to become. But still you rest content to see your hands form something, although not as you imagined, it remains beneficial. And you will always welcome this growth, though it comes slow.
You look constantly forward, waiting for the moment to become more. When will you dare glance in the mirror to see who you are now, and what you have already become? Hide. Go ahead, try. Turn off all the lights. But here it won’t matter. This glass prison lets only light in and forces you to see you. Maybe now you will remove the black cloth. The mourning period is over, it is time to move on, to see what this tragedy has made you.
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