Room of Windows

I find myself always looking out windows.
They're kept clean, so that the view is perfect.
No Obstruction.

Everything I touch is cold, and sleek.
There's little comfort.
Yet, I find it anyway.
I can see it.

And with what I can see, I can feel.
Soft, and lush, yet slightly damp.

I'm not a ghost, nor am I exempt from the laws of nature.
I'm merely a girl,
resting in a room of windows.

A sizable rock lies beside me.
A heart is carefully etched on its surface.
It's a gift, I know.
As I watch the storm raging outside.

My eyes observe the destruction,
the Ill of Fate.
I'm not out there.

I'm just a girl,
resting in a room of glass,
with my beloved rock beside me.