Water Beyond Glass

Avec condition

He lives in a box, in a field, of glass.
Scared it will shatter and slice him open, he does not like to move about much. He does not want to prod at the glass or go up for air. He is afraid of shards, reflections cutting deep. Deep enough to wound. Deep enough to kill. Yet inside he is using up all the oxygen and he cannot breathe for too much longer without getting out. The life he lives is a trap, a trap that promised love but delivered only a Valentine heart and a few red roses which soon withered anyway. In a desert, roses don't grow, they wither. In a desert, there is no water, so the roses wither. In a desert, without water, there is little oxygen, and so all he can see in amongst the dunes of sand are mirages. Dreams: open arms, innocent laughter, smiling, are merely chalk drawings on the sidewalk, to be washed away by rain. If he holds his hand out and opens his parched mouth, will his thirst be quenched by water that is not there to quench his thirst but to wash away the mirage? In a field of glass, in a desert of dreams, on a wall, in a box, he lies. He lies. And he doesn't even know it.

Sans condition

He lived in a box, in a field, of glass.
One day, before the oxygen ran out, he smashed the glass open. The shards glittered in the air as sunlight smiled. The first impact meant he was cut, a few bruises; conversely, the reflection perished, shattered under the feather of freedom. He had gained wings of liberty, able to soar beyond the yonder's reach into heavenly realms, distanceless. Here, the walls are crumbled and any dreams, any mirages, any illusions, are gone. Everything he is, is love, and so he sees, he feels, he breathes, he touches, he smells, he hears it being whispered in the wind, being grown within the glade. At the mouth of a river, water gurgles downstream, cascade-bound. And here he is, standing looking at the rush rush by, aware. Palms cupped, he lifts up a goblet filled with fresh water up to his parched lips and drinks. There is no thirst, for he has what he needs. He can breathe amongst the pines, the firs, the aspens, the poplars too. They share their oxygen with him who needs it. He smiles a grin of thanks. In such a place of peace, he is true. He is true. And love knows it too.