The glass sheet that kept the slick rain from entering the room seemed liquid. He pushed a cheek up next to the cool glass and imagined he was dancing outside in bare feet. He loved the feeling of wet grass and cool air. Together they were paintbrushes on his soul. He wondered how hard he could press before the glass would let him out. He believed that if he thought hard enough, he could become liquid, like the rain and flow through the window to the other side, where he could be outside looking in.