Rainstorms are incredible: falling shards of glass, the air full of diamonds.
This was what being cured was like: like being in a fishbowl, circling always inside the same glass.
There is so much fragility in kissing, in other people: It is all glass.
...the past: It drifts, it gathers. If you are not careful, it will bury you. This is half the reason for the cure: It clean-sweeps; it makes the past, and all its pain, distant, like the barest impression on sparkling glass.