You have always lived in a glass house.
When I found you, the vision was so enchanting that I didn’t mind being outside of it.
From there I watched your life play out, in stories and moments that you allowed for me to see.
These glimpses of you seemed so real that soon I believed that I was a part of it.
As time dragged on I began to resent the glass.
Desperately I tried to get to you, but you were locked inside.
In distress I beat against the glass, only to end carved up and bloodied.
Even then, standing in view, you never saw how I was bleeding or in need of you.
When the glass turned to stone and I could no longer glimpse into your life, I was forced to walk away.
As I made my way away I crossed my path with those who disguised themselves as friends.
But their touch was cold and harsh as they ripped into my skin, taking parts of me as they were pushed away.
The scars soon became the only comfort that I knew.
And now that you and all the ones who’ve come and gone are merely ghosts to me, I can finally see you better then I ever had before.