For weeks now she sits by that window, watching
The siblings who separate and the friends that betray
She watched those hands that let go and never meet again
From that window in the corner, the flickering light above finally goes out, bringing a hazy darkness that only illuminates that corner
She hears the voices that are never spoken, not even the whispers
To this lullaby of silent sips of short relief, she sleeps on that soft chair by the window.
Fingers rough from cleaning nudge at her shoulder, awakening her
Eyes as bright as the stars stare back, forcing her to stand and see the midnight ceiling outside
Screeching chairs and thumps on the floor tell her its time
For weeks now she leaves the chair by the window
To be there is like letting go of the day, entering new harsh grounds with no light
She hears the voices that are traded and bought, that are lost
To hear them is like being in crowd where nothing but small words are spoken
Through the darkness she comes back to the window
She watches the chair on the other side under the fixed light, illuminating everything
She hears the voices that are kept, never lost
The smiles, embraces and euphoria
To be here is like letting go of the night full of stars,
entering new changes with paths of light in every direction
