I wonder how people see me. They think that I am easy, loving, kind, and an open book. Oh, how they are wrong. They see a glass wall. See, I reflect what you want to see. I allow you to see yourself and a little bit of me. Everyone sees a different view when they look through me, yet a little bit of the same to say, hey, it’s a glass.
I am not a brick wall because that would make me stoned hard to deal with. I am glass; I trick you into believing in what you see. If you scream at me, I am hard to break, but if you throw me, I am shattered. I make a noise that everyone hears. They don’t want to hear the shattered glass, so they keep it at the highest point, gentle enough to not be touched but still dust me off whenever a guest comes. I am glass. If I break and you fix me back, you can still see the lines, but now I am either useless or a master of holding it together. It is hard to make me and rebuild me, so please don’t shatter me.