I've sat and I've thought. And thought. The conclusion I have finally based is, it's because of being scared. The big glass wall goes up and it's to be kept from getting hurt, again and again.
Then I thought some more. About this glass wall that seems like such a bright idea to hold in front of you to keep from the hurt again. And I realized.. With this wall, behind this thin glass wall, I can never be touched. And, I don't want that; to never be touched again. Such a risk I'd say.
It's not so much glass anymore however, it's courage. Something I wish for you, for anyone, for my love, whomever you may be, to do the same. Gain courage, admit what you felt, and slide the glass over and step in. I have a mighty fine brain. Stepping inside wouldn't do anyone much harm.
Us.. Living things. We're stupid, typically insane. And because of this I watch you concealed, hiding in your oversized garments tucked away in the secret room of the old house.
I've been in there once before. I stopped by the house to my left to see what was inside. The door was open and there when I stepped I saw the most repulsive man, and I ran back to the street where it kept going and going because that's where I knew one of these days that if I did keep running, I will run into you. Whomever. You. May. Be.
This lack of affectation... I guess I'm not too fond. I hate writing this out as well though.. Because this is permanent whereas people aren't. This permanent and subversiveness is written in cold ink. You aren't. However, I just wish the walls would break down and this ink wouldn't be so cold.
