Sunshine torturing our souls with fragments from long-gone summers. It is not people we miss, it is emotions, moments, situations. Don't you sometimes wish you could open these locked windows, allow people to touch you, feel your warmth? Don't you dream of trust and belonging, of being more than a passive observer in the melancholic acts of social interaction?

You've done it before, you know you're capable of closeness, and yet you only let the same old figures enter your well-defended world. In the soothing comfort of their familiarity, conversations flow naturally, your body grows soft and responsive, your mind remains focused on the present, you experience instead of analyzing, you come to life, like a cold-blooded vampire suddenly awoken by midnight-chiming clocks.

To go on, everyday you must convince yourself that you’re in love with a different person. But your love is purely theoretical- it begins to evaporate the moment actions become necessary. And, once in a while, you're overwhelmed by all those repressed desires, so you explode in some unsuspecting stranger's face. But the explosion is a stunt, since merely worlds escape the prison of your lips; you think you're showing weaknesses, a human side, when you're simply fabricating distractions, fooling yourself...

What is worse, you're just hanging there, waiting for someone to forcibly drag you out of your self-inflicted misery, instead of smashing down those walls. And you avoid the most important questions, like What’s so precious and irreplaceable about your detached existence that you'd rather spend the rest of your life in a glass bowl than risk making a mistake? What are you terrified of losing except a little pride and the pathetic safety of your ego trip?