a place called home

I watch the world through the front window of my first floor apartment on a one way street. I watch cars drive by and people walk and I know not where they’re going, but where they have momentarily been. I see sunlight bend and change directions with the lightening and darkening of days. I see trees bloom and shed leaves, snow fall and melt, and neighbors come and go and get replaced.

I watch the world through the front window of my first floor apartment on a one way street, and the background shifts slightly, but there is no plot. I hear voices having conversations, but they’re reduced to misplaced mumbles. I hear rain falling, but inside I stay dry. I hear the wind blowing and the clinking of chimes, but the air around me is still save for the tiny gusts of breathy sighs.

I watch the world through the front window of my first floor apartment on a one way street, through half-closed blinds to secure the required privacy of fear. Inside two kittens sit perched on windows ledges, and they watch the world from my same perspective as I watch them long for the outdoors. Inside plants grow in indirect light and I feed them tap water and watch them as they wither. Inside I watch the world through the front window of my first floor apartment on a one way street.

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