Glass Corridors

Morning light fractures through office tower geometry— a thousand rooms burning with the same small fluorescent sun.

Below, the street breathes its rhythm of strangers, each one carrying a pocket of silence no one will open.

I press my palm against the window and the city presses back with the weight of a hand that isn't holding mine.

In the lobby, we gather like salt settling in water— each particle falling alone through the bright medium, finding its place in the pressure.

The elevator hums its private frequency, and for four floors I am exactly where everyone else is going.