In Short All the time that you believed you were housed, you were actually outside, nose pressed flat against the panes of brightly lit windows and you forgot that people are also panes you press your nose against, leaving behind a steamblot, that you can never climb in for good, however hard you try. And one day you realise you’re a pane too, freckled by your own rigmaroles of vapour and all your life you’ve done nothing but make hectic designs on the glass. And you’re still outside.
