The Glass Elevator

Dear Delyara, I’ve spent my life avoiding the edges. I don’t do heights, I don’t do crowds, and I don’t do things I can’t control. My world has become smaller and smaller, a tiny room where I feel "safe" but I can't breathe. Tonight, I wrote a letter to my fear. I told it that I’m tired of the walls. I am imagining myself in a glass elevator, rising above the city. I am leaving my need for control at the bottom floor.