Window

window

Every morning I see her as I pass the grandest house on the street. It must have once been a fine mansion for local landowners with the columns and fine steps up to its front door witnessing the footsteps and breaths of the gentry of years gone-by. Now it is a mix-match of flats and duplexes, but no less grand because of that. She is always in the window, top right. She sits there reading, drinking or staring out into space. The window frames her radiance perfectly.  I can’t imagine she has ever seen me gimping past.

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He passes my window every morning, and most days I see him rushing by in that cute walk-hop he has made his own. Some might see his disability as a defect, to me it shows his strength. I can’t imagine it ever limiting him. My eye was first drawn to him weeks back, soon after I moved in. He may have a mobility issue but that is negligible to the energy that surrounds him as he bustles by. Where he is headed I can only imagine. Sometimes I fancy that he looks up and sees me, but it is all in my mind. someone of his power would never notice me up here in my garret.

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Back at my post behind my window I spend the day giving information about platform and train times. I sell tickets and advise people on the best ways to make the journeys on which they are embarking. Until I first noticed her I was content to sit here and see others travel. Now I have a yearning to make my own journey, a journey that includes the woman in the window. I spend spare moments imagining myself with her on a journey of exploration of each other and the world.  Empty musings: she would never agree to go anywhere with me.

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Daily I turn on my laptop to start my work. Many times as windows loads my mind wanders to him again and to the fantasies of our meeting and beginning a life together. My laptop is a window to a world of dreams. I settle in to write, or at least to attempt to write.  He often interrupts my thoughts and many times I have wanted to write him into my life as I write characters into my stories. If only he would one day stop and ring my doorbell, or at least notice me up here waiting.

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Walking home I have the strongest urge to climb those few steps and ring her doorbell. It is a temptation almost too strong. My footsteps halt for just a second as I half-consider the proposal in my head, but I  carry on after a glance up at the now empty but lit window. My window of opportunity has passed. My nerve never broke the chains. I couldn’t stand the rejection. It really could be the end of the line for me.

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I imagine myself engineering a meeting with my mystery man as I stare out the window to the rear garden. Supper is on the stove and the smell of baking is filling the kitchen. How much would I love to bake for him, or have him cook for me? I glance down at the envelope on the table that the courier brought round this afternoon. Tomorrow I have to catch the train to London. My editor booked the tickets online and had them sent to me. I made sure she booked an early train so that I can leave the house at the time he usually passes by. Who knows perhaps tomorrow our paths will cross.

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