What do you see when you look out these pleated windows?
past the lights and shooting stars
Do you see your ghostly past
flirting with the boys at Lazy Jane Park, eating icecream with strangers
Can you taste those salty tears in that yellow summer dress, waiting cold and alone for nobody on the winter streets of New York City
Are you waiting for the mother who never came or the father who "just forgot"?
Can you hear the pitter-patter of the rain, the sound of silence submerged by the singing of crickets on a hot July night, waiting for a phonecall that never came
The smell of incense, musk, and dirt enclosed in a room with 10 lonely children.
I stare out these pleated windows, only to run away from the fears and secrets that haunt my dreams, afraid to fix what I have broken.