His life is an air plane:
confined, cluttered and utterly boring,
inches away from him is euphoric beauty, but all he can do is stare at it blankly, watch it go by and wish he were on the other side.
It's not palpable beauty, it's as real as his dreams (non existent)
and as obtainable as the first class seats of life he so badly desires (hopeless)
If he were insane, the glass that keeps him from it may even laugh at him.
but maybe he is insane, because on his loneliest days he gulps down his disgusting cup of coffee and caresses the side walls of the plane,
cursing every little gritty bump and groove,
because they are everything that has ever held him back.
Even on his best days he prays and weeps, yelling out to no one in particular.
begging for the walls to melt away so he can fall.
Fall into the beauty he has envied his whole life,
where he can choke on the clouds and grasp at the sky as the plane slowly fades out of view,
where he can experience joy and peace, if only for a second, until he comes barreling down into a crater of land.
and if he dies on his final descent, at least he died happily.