I stared into your window hoping—was it hope?
To catch a glimpse, something real.
Your soul, perhaps?
The curtains fluttered, tiny bird wings–caught and touched and flew.
Startled, you shut the window—but it’s cold outside.
Won’t you let me in?
My breath fogs the glass—close, but not enough to touch.
Did I scare you?
Windows locked, all boarded up. No cracks or crevasses, not a space for me to slip inside.
Your door doesn’t open for me.
I stared into your window hoping—was it hope?
To catch a glimpse of your world, something real.
Your soul I found, was it love, perhaps?
Or simply, everything, that my world lacked.