Tabbi Coffman #12: Figments of my Imagination

My window.

I face the West, I can only watch as the day slips down in an array of colors through the silhouettes of tress. I only know when a new day as becomes because that girl will rise everyday at 5:45 am. Though sometimes she wakes earlier or later, I'm not sure why.

Today is the 12th day she's been gone. It's been quiet here, and it's gotten colder. The sun doesn't shine as bright and I can no longer watch the leaves sway in the wind. I cannot even watch that girl go about her day. Sometimes she reads, or listens to musics, or draws, or sleeps. And sometimes she sits right beside me, leaning on me but gazing right through me.

I cannot blame her... my father really was a window maker and I am easy to see through.

Today, I watch the sun sink and feel a little disappointed that she hasn't returned. But I hear voices down stairs. The rumble of suit cases and the opening and closing of doors. I begin to feel hopeful, that the boring days are over.

I wait. Hours, before she returns, rushing through the doors and laying down on her bed. I feel a sense of relief at seeing her messy brown hair again. She stays up for quite a while, longer than usually. Finally she turns her lights out and settles into her bed bundled under a pile of blankets. I begin to relax to.

Suddenly though she stands before me. Gazing up at me as though she actually see's me. I feel excited and nervous at this sudden attention. She steps up onto the window box and reaches up towards the shade. My excitement turns to dread. How could she? After I've waited so long for her return. And now she betrays me! I resist her tugs at the shade. Fighting for a chance to see her. But she's too strong. The shade is lowered so far that I can barely see the window box. I cannot see her anymore.

Oh girl, why are you so cruel?