Who would've known as a grown man, I'd still be that lost boy fogging the glass with his breath? Then placing his hand there, leaning back observing that moment of art, as a symbolic thought crosses his mind, wondering... if he'll be able to touch the world enough one day to where his print is left behind... ha! left behind... somehow poignantly funny, because being left behind is another thought he felt so akin to- as his wrist hovered adjacent to the horizontal window PANE straight across he thought, mirroring the same structure that carved horizontal lines that once broke his resolve and enhanced his curiosity while biting into his wrist- penetrating that thin line of shallowness he revered as his surface, which he clung so tight to- because he felt no one could feel his PAIN.. no one but this window PANE yes, the window did- for it sees all and stays silent, transparent and non-judging- the greatest attributes in a best friend he wondered how could something be so quietly comforting and loyal, yet easily crack and shatter under pressure showing vulnerability at the first signs of discomfort innocently divulging a truth of some kind imparted by the force it became victim to- that force, became measured by shards of glass looking back up at him and somehow he felt the pain inflicted upon it a traumatizing act, because when glass is broken, there's some impossible feeling of guilt and empathy that takes over us but is that sorrow for the glass, or the broken person he sees in it? or maybe the ensuing eyes that peer questioningly, overwhelming his consciousness with the torment of perceived judgement he stands shooken and found out, feeling almost naked so-to-speak if only for a moment those pervading voices breech and surround his senses, though it's all in his mind often times that man was I.. I, that broke that glass that broke that one stable friendship and bond that accepted me blindly conditionless and willingly within its shattered pieces, I saw a man of many different faces don't we all? It's crazy to think, but selfishly everything serves a purpose, and you know glass never let me down sometimes it showed me raw truth and reflective bits of myself on the outside looking in, or at least what I wanted to see and other times, a distorted or prismed perspective of the world outside of my own unobstructed view- often given me a sight and thought that I wasn't able to conceive or digest prior to peering through the eye of that glass after indulging my pallet and gullet in a foreplay with spirits-the fluidity of that temporary serum it bared within so purposefully, satiated my emptiness again...everything serves a purpose yes, glass came in many shapes, it molds to the needs of its environment like me and it's our environment we seek most to control or fall in line with, and the environment of the glass I had in my possession was a control that sometimes gets the better of me And often as I look through it, peeking through its crystal like specs- I may not always see my prints, but I know they are there, for I touched it with such a purpose, and if only for that moment...at least in my own way, I touched the world, yes, I touched the WORLD! and within that connection, that touch, that purpose something was left behind my print because I touched the world maybe you'll notice..