Through the Glass

I hate this feeling; this need for some kind of contact.  It is a constant yearning, an ache made worse by memories and reminders of a past life.  That world goes on without me; I am no longer part of it.  All I can do is look on from a distance.  I am stuck outside the window, looking in on what I used to know.  Only now, it is so very different.  The scene once bathed in a golden glow is now cast in a sickly green light.  The unseen facade as been removed and what lies beneath is but the mockery of a brilliant thought.  Maybe I am better off on this side of the glass.  Maybe I see things clearer, suspended here in the night sky.  Maybe.  All the same, it is so very hard to fly away.