A Glass House

I walk the platform, pretending to be waiting for you.
What am I doing here?
I know you’re not expecting me
But I have places to be and I’d rather be here waiting for you.

There’s a rumbling in the ground,
a persistent thunder,
far away but getting closer.
Almost there.
In anticipation, I close my eyes.

I wake up in a room.
A simple room.
With simple walls and ceiling,
made of glass.
It’s night outside–this simple room feels cold and lonely.

But I am not alone.
I open my eyes to fields of stars ad infinitum,
So far away–why need they be so far away?

And then the doors open and you appear,
startled, coy. You smile.
The sun has risen and who needs those stars anyway.
Can I walk you the rest of the way?

Light fills up my little room,
revealing crannied nooks I’d never seen or suspected.
This tiny space seems so much bigger now, in the light,
seems to contain much more than darkness.

But with this revelation, an apocalypse.

Heat fills me up, bounces off the walls
even as they twinkle and gleam,
helpless to leave this place
and even after we get where you’re going and part ways
(not forever, there is room to recess)
the heat is comfortable enough
I do not need the stars.
Not really.

Time passes and with every glance
passed back and forth,
more heat glitters off my room.
It’s radiant. And I can’t get out.
I’m melting.
Even when you aren’t there, I can’t stand it.
Eating is a foreign language and sleep an enemy
and I can’t see the stars through the fog
in my sauna,
but only your brilliance shines through,
distorted by my pain.

I have to get out.
You have to release me.
There are stones at my feet. But what will they do to me?
They will break the glass, let the cool air
wash over me, release all this tension. But will that be enough?
Will it stop at that wall, or will the cracks in the glass
bring the house down around me?
Will I ever see you again?
Will we be able to talk,
as we have, as we do,
if I cast this first stone?

Let it fall, I scream, echoing off the glass walls.
Let it fall all around me
Let it fall on top of me
If the price of feeling the cool breezes again
Is being battered by falling glass,
Then let the shards of self-knowledge mar my hide
and winter take me
If I can only first speak my heart a while.

About Polypsyches

I write, regardless of medium or genre, but mostly I manage a complex combined Science-Fiction/Fantasy Universe--in other words, I'm building Geek Heaven. With some other stuff on the side. View all posts by Polypsyches

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