Through the windowpane, past a set of sheer white curtains, my memories stare back at me. I recognize them, but I am a stranger to their empty gaze. Ice could not be colder than the tears upon my face, as my head bows and my lips quiver. Music drifts in the quiet corridors of my mind, and through the glass, I see my memories begin to dance. Sunlight illuminates each smiling face that greets the warmth with laughter and twinkling eyes; my eyes twinkle for another reason. Too much, it is all too much. If I could join the dancing figures, I would, but the glass grows thicker the harder I press against its unyielding crystal, and my mind grows foggier and foggier, until it is nothing but frost. Frost to fall upon my temple, to cool the sorrow that lives there, and numb the scorching pain.