but... someone comes along... with a handful of rocks… and an intent to shatter my windows.
and i know that if my windows were to shatter… i would see no more.
but… just because i can’t see… doesn’t mean that what’s there to be seen... no longer exists.
and if it exists… but i can’t see it with my eyes…
i will hear it in my ears…
i will taste it on my tongue…
i will smell it in my nose…
i will touch it with my fingers…
i will clasp it in my hand…
tuck it into the empty sockets where my glass windows used to be…
and i will say to the one with the rocks…
i dare you to come and take what’s mine.
and i will laugh inside myself… because they do not know… nor will i tell them...
my glass eyes were cloistered rooms… but my empty sockets are open sky.
