Outside Your Window

~ Poetry ~

---

Awake in the hot night, windows open.

You lie awake in the hot night and

your windows are open.

You are in

a caravan with your family. Or your first flat with a balcony. Or the room with the shutters, that used to be your parents. Or your lovers' converted attic, in the middle of a terrace. Birds, sirens, rain on leaves, a stream, a highway, a screech, a laugh, Conversation. Kids out way too late in the park. The faraway roar of the train station. Noises in the night give a special kind of sensation. A feeling of being so alive that finds its way under your skin. A feeling of being, so vibrant it reminds you just how much living is being done outside your window, in the heat of the night, in the branches of the tree that scrapes your window frame. In the busy cars of teens who passed their test that day. Somewhere distant, down your road. Or somewhere close, in the streets below. For a brief moment, just before you sleep, these sounds make you sad. Sad that you will never know those lives,

That you are missing out.

For a brief moment,

you feel lonely. Because you will never live those stories.

In this world, you will walk straight past them.

In this bed, you will sleep straight through them.