Window

Where to start?

Maybe with the window.

It’s too windy, it rattles, I’m cold.

My boss tells me I need to eat more.

I drink hot water with lemon,

a little honey to soften the aftertaste of everything.

I want to write, or paint,

but I end up refreshing my inbox.

Nothing new.

Guilt comes anyway.

Outside, life keeps going

people passing, phones ringing,

Turkish sweets being shared.

How do I explain?

Everything is as it’s supposed to be,

and yet nothing seems right.

No longer waiting,

no longer seeking,

no longer explaining.

And once again

there is no one to apologize to.

I know some good hearts,

yet my hands are cold,

like the wind through the window.

My cup is cooling too.

A new feeling stirs inside me

the kind that earns judgment

or pity,

but it doesn’t concern me.

I don’t seek pity or understanding,

only your time.

I no longer run towards people.

Instead, I drift,

like a candle burning at noon,

beside those I love.

How can I describe this feeling?

It feels like a dinner for one in a full house,

like a breeze threading through a forest long after the fire,

like laughter that never touches your heart.

What is better?

a warm heart that stays distant,

or an ice wall that never lies?