Self-Reflection in Stares

I will not look at the windows, though they are everywhere, pools of light reflecting me. The glass magnifies the light that burns into my soul, highlighting shadows and dust. Sometimes, my gaze sees me accidentally and I quickly slide my soul-burned eyes to the ground to avoid them. Why am I afraid to look? What will I see? Will it be the 5-year-old, too terribly naked to even take pictures? Or will it be the 14-year-old who wove a dream around herself to cover her nakedness? I can hear my thoughts scream cover yourself, cover everything about you, and I can't plug my ears. I can see me looking, but I will not look myself. My soul is mine to give you, and I am not yet ready to show me. You stab me with pinpricks of light, that I dutifully swallow, because I gave them to you. Sometimes they travel around my body as intense heat and irritate my stomach, giving me indigestion.
I am not non-Japanese, I am me.
I am not not-you, I am me.
I am you, I am me.
We are the same, don't you see, you and me?
But I can't see unless I look, and you can't see unless I look.
Please close the windows so I can look, it is too bright, and I can't see.