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  • Writer's picturen0mad


My hand is pressed hard against the cold clear glass with it’s embedded metal wires. I can see her, I can talk to her via some stupid phone. I can wave. But they’ve taken away any contact, it seems a high price to pay. All she did was fire her boss… admittedly in a very permanent way. And now we can’t hug, can’t kiss, let alone anything more intimate. All I can see is her hand pressed against her side of the glass, mirroring mine.



To write about touch or lack of it. 4 mins to write in class.

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