She sits in front of a window, looking out into the world below her. She sees many lights, hears many sounds, but they’re all too bright and much too loud. She tries to find his face in the sea of people, strains to hear his voice. Time is lost on her, the weeks and months seem to blur together in a slow never-ending haze. She can feel the seconds moving, the hands on the clock barely making an effort. She sits in front of the window; and her heart and soul yearns for sweet beautiful words that will never be heard again. To her, his death never happened. To her, his skin was never icy cold and his heart still beats. She wraps his shirt around her, indulging on the lingering smell of him there. She can feel her bones protruding out from her too-thin body and hugs herself tighter. She looks out the window and she can see him! She gets up closer to the glass, pressing her forehead against it as her eyes follow brown messy hair to a bus stop. Her heart is beating wildly now, she can feel a familiar fluttering in her stomach, and her eyes are wild in anticipation. The man turns around. She sits in front of the window and waits.
His Apartment Window
April 12, 2009