window

I see through the window people who will never know me. They live their lives in absolute ignorance of me and each other, and yet I craft a story for them. They’re star crossed lovers, divided by cement and mortar.And sometimes I put myself into the stories I make, I dream myself to be their hero, swinging in to save the day. Liberating them, and watching them embrace for the first time. Its warm, the feeling inside.

 All the while they live their lives, she adjusts her TV antenna, and he does his homework, his football banners hanging loosely out his window.

Sometimes I perform to them, my audience, and I enjoy my fantasy where they know me, and applaud me, she in her night gown, he in his boxers. “Bravo!” they shout across the alley. I take my bow, gracefully and without shame.

And when their curtains are drawn, I imagine the secrets they don’t want me to see, his drug problem, and her secret lover. His porn addiction and her bondage gear.

And when they’re not there on some nights, when their rooms lay empty and abandoned I stand by my window and wonder where they are. My close friends, who will never know me, nor each other.