a microcosm of a cosmos
I once thought of a window as something to look at, rather than to look through.
I figured, then, that being a window would allow one to either be looked through, or looked at.
If one was a window that was to be looked through, throwing a rock at it would hurt.
If one was a window that was to be looked at, throwing a rock at it would make one question the existentialism of the window.
I haven't felt like a window in quite large number of days; fortunately.
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