Reminiscent

Remembering a story I couldn't finish on my own from years ago. The angel in her glass house still recalls and wonders about how it went. Was it real?

I remember something from so long ago. While I still felt trapped behind these glass walls, I remember seeing someone outside. I'm still unsure if he saw me, I'm unsure what he could see out there, if this glass is like a window or a one way mirror. I've never step foot outside, so how could I know. But I saw him, investigating the walls, curiously watching. I saw him walk up and look around, at one point he pressed his palm against the surface. Did he see me mirror the gesture? Did he see me smile and press my palm to his? I sighed and stretched my wings as I began to pace, frustrated with this lack for full memory. Was it just a dream? Did I just see someone that wasnt really there?
Suddenly a thought hits me. I look around, my mind scattering as my gaze falls upon the unmanned piano. It couldn't be. Yet, he is the only one I've ever seen come and go. It would make sense, I suppose. I returned to my pacing, chewing on my fingertip as I tried to make sense of everything. Should I just ask him? Could he fill in the blanks? Do I really even want to know the answers? As my frustration grew, I found my pacing stop and my wings took over, fluttering in circles around the room. I found myself gathering blankets and pillows, setting up a hammock of sorts in a corner of the room, high above the floor. A habit I have unfortunately, get above everything, sometimes it helps solve, others it just helps calm.
As my little hiding spot became complete, I sat there watching the floor. Memories flooding my mind, dancing, talking, playing. Maybe that boy was you. How did you get in? Why did you come in? Did you see me? Did you know I was here before you stepped in? What's it like out there? I sighed as I fell into my nest, the thoughts still swimming through my mind. How did you find me? As the thought came I fell asleep, calm and just happy, knowing that regardless of the answers, you were here. You are here. You are home.

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[Michael Leon Wilson]

All will be answered, queries revealed, the sights the path the reasons the mysteries, our story we separately kept in secrecy all these years. Have patience, perfect pictures are patiently painted portraits that placate perceptive passive passions .
I will speak this story in the only language I can.
In time.