glass
There are various things scattered around me. Some just a metre or two from where I stand. Others further away. Boxes that hold their shape, blobs that look like jelly. Different colours and different sizes. They all represent something. Work, studies, love, friendship, a house of my own, the kind of life I want to live in, pets, wine, money, good mental health, freedom to do whatever I want, a space of my own. Some of these things I want, others not so much. But there they are, scattered on the floor around me. They all seem like things I can have. Things I can just walk up to and pick up. If I choose today that I want a house of my own, all I have to do is take those five or six steps towards that purple blob and pick it up. So simple. The first step is not a problem. But with the second, I hit a wall. Strange, because I see no walls. I reach towards the invisible barrier and realise I’m in a glass box. A few things, boxes and blobs, are inside. And I can pick them up. I can ha