window project THINGS MADE OF GLASS

If Dr. Dalsace’s House of Glass looked onto a cinematographic landscape of a Kill Bill East and reality could be drawn as a graphic novel written backwards and fantasy was real like a copy of ourselves in 3D. 
If for once it was you waiting for me and not me waiting for you, nervously smoking my last but one cigarette and you suddenly appeared far away among the trees as if in a black and white frame of Truffaut. 
If things made of glass laid down gently and unbreakable in the garden of eternal spring and huge nightingales would bring us food to nibble on and twigs to play with. 
You would finally understand that I love you.