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The boy from the floor below
She knew I was building walls of glass: transparent, fragile, but enough to keep anyone from seeing what lay behind them.
The metaphor of 'glass walls' is hauntingly accurate for our era. We build these barriers thinking they offer protection, only to realize they trap us in a sterile isolation where no one else can truly touch us, yet we remain utterly visible. Is it possible that the glass makes us more transparent, not less?
