Yesterday I took this picture out my living room window. At first I thought the sun was pretty, but the more I looked I identified with it.
The finger prints, the smudges, like looking in a dim mirror of myself. Bright spots, but things askew, strewn about. Foggy, messy, broken fence being propped up, barely standing. Signs that fun was once had, but no life in a while.
I tried to wipe the window with my sleeve to make it clearer, but it just got more foggy, more blurry. I couldn’t see.
In my mind I broke the window, just so the dimness would go away.
When it broke the air rushed in, and I could breathe again.
Because the fact in fact
Whatever’s in front of me is covering my view
So I can’t see what I’m seeing in fact
I only see what I’m looking through
I had to break the window
It just had to be it was in my way
Better that I break the window Then forget what I had to say
-”Window”, Fiona Apple
(Post originally published March 2009)