Unkown: As my touch is forever left

Pieces of glass in the wind are flowing freely full of colors like the ones you see in church almost as if pieces were capturing the trees I can't touch, My brain is too complex. Glass will burst if it read my mind. That's why I reject the true story of the glass tunnel, so I run inside my mind. I’m listening to the words others tell me as I run, feeling the thoughts of the wind as I run, past everything. I won’t look at the wonders of life. Let my shatters cut. Each stab slows me down. It hurts to breathe. It’s not the same as a bird that each time it flies it loses a feather. My breath might reach the outside world, My breath is not fragile like my body. Sometimes I think that the pieces don’t want to hurt but kill me with a pillow made of bird feathers.

Other times I stop denying the pieces. I see the pieces leaving and coming back from the tunnel each time. As the tunnel expands, it captures. It captures someone's truth and reflection. I became the structure the Ultimate wanted me to be so delicate, to see through like glass. My father told me that pieces are things to destroy and put back together. Find the pieces there scattered in your heart; they stab you because they're meant to be put back together. Give its edges a direction to point.

I was afraid and protected from the outside, afraid of wondering. Broken from the touch of others, pieces swirling, no animosity towards reality. Left with the pieces of others, I have good and bad memories; loving the rattling of the pieces,

the wind seems to never get upset with me. The wind is by me when I set solely by myself, the leafs flirted with the wind, fighting over the love of the wind, and some fell from the wind’s charm and others changed color to attract the wind’s attention.

I hear the bird’s melody resourcing in my mind. I always did. So I write one last time in the glass tunnel. I love my writing and the mark that my soul leaves on paper, but it's all about unreality. Unreality is considered defiant to the ultimate.Truth is writing about my unreality is what the Ultimate fear the most. Truth is my unreality became reality to me. I did what I only knew to do —write. I held onto my father's words and wrote to reality in hope of a return. I realized that one cannot live in this world without reality. I realized that people have different realities to presume but still I chose to write.