The Glass Box

The ‘glass box’ he had called it when they were together. The twenty-fourth floor condo with views all the way out to the eastern coast; and to the south, the city skyscrapers with their nightly, sparkling display of lights. Now with the windows opaqued, her glass box in the sky was a tomb filled with memories of him.

Listlessly she sank into the over-sized chaise near the eastern windows where they had spent many love-filled nights, then whispered their innermost thoughts to each other far into the morning. But he left, as she knew he would. She stayed, to the heartbreak of them both. He wanted her, but not her life’s work; after all this time, not understanding that they were one and the same.

Wasting her days on Facebook, she followed his every adventure in the new town. Vicariously along as he made new friends and found a new love; unable to tear herself away from their whirlwind courtship.

Spending her nights on their chase, lifeless as a cast away doll, she mourned. Tonight though was different. Tonight, he and his new love had announced their engagement. Tonight, the pain in her heart tore so deeply that death could only have been a relief. He had gone on. So must she.

It’s that simple.

Morning came far too quickly; announced in the darkness only by the chiming of the Westminster clock, one of his contributions to the decor.

It – and all the rest – must go.

She left the chaise, this time with a sense of purpose. At the window controls, and for the first time since their parting, she moved the slide from ‘opaque’ to ‘clear’. The sun burned through the now transparent windows, searing her agony deep into her heart. For the breath of a second, it felt as though she has tried to horizontally balance on the point of a knife – and slipped. Abruptly, the pain lessened to a deep throbbing. She would bear it.

Welcoming back the light is the first step. It’s time to live again.