I apologize for the view you see, but I assure you it is not what I wish to show.

Your stiffened jaw as you passed by me in hallways and your silent glare held airs of betrayal and pain. I don't let it stifle me, your constant anger. Emotions I let pass through me. I am a clear windowpane, and this bothers you. You are a mosaic, I find. You trap emotions, change their color to suit your frame, and then toss them past, muddled and dangerous. My transparency makes your light red, orange, flaming and beaming in my eyes. Discomfort passes through me, as well. Your colors pass me through.

This anger, it is violent. I am subject to this, day by day, gathering bruises and scrapes as a child gathers coins found beneath pillows. This violence, it is patient. One offense at a time, it comes surely and steadily. It comes in a jutted foot, meant to trip me as I pass in the library. A scratch of long, pampered nails down my neck when I am sitting for lunch. A stained, ruined puzzle found on my bedroom floor, placed as thoughtfully as a love note from a secret admirer. This patience, it sees no time. I cannot imagine an instance in the future in which you will not be vengeful towards me and everything I am. I cannot see one in my memory, either. Regardless of time or place, you are there with more anger, specifically for me.

And just for us, a call comes. A call of reckoning, a call we had both awaited and dreaded our entire lives. As one era passes another comes. The epitomic point in our existence a torch of justice left one hand and waited for another to grasp it. A different light to pass through our windowpanes. And vengeful still you were. This light of destiny, a light we had been chasing wildly for so long came too softly and too pure for your mosaic. As it was, it would seem, the light passing through your muddling colors distorted and dulled in your bright silhouette.

That torch you let fall.

You went, in search of lights brighter and powerful and great. Such a small light is too little for a great piece such as you.

So the noble light passes through my windowpane.

So the brighter light passes through yours.

So long burns the noble light, but how short the bright one lived.

Your mosaic, great and towering beauty, is dark. It will never again see light; burned, smashed, taken too quickly, roughly. I can still see your anger projected in colors, coming from the sky above and diving at me patiently, day by day. You loathe me and everything I am. Perhaps even everything I show; for through this window you will see the view you despised and cursed. Through this window, you see life without me.

And you hate it.