Glowing Windows
It's not all greed and guilt, lies and highs. Scares heal, plans change, and truths are told.
I’ve always found hypocrisy fascinating. And although I try to avoid it as best I can, there’s no bleach strong enough to remove it completely. Life is filled with competing ideas, whether you look at those around you, or deep within yourself. Sometimes the best thing to do is to point them out and study their reflection.
I’m filled with hypocrisy. Deep-rooted ideas clash on every patch of my soul. They know they don’t belong together but stay side-by-side for no other reason than convenience.
I watch the windows and put my ear to the walls. Contradictions, lies and illusions cover every surface. Boys play rough in the park and cry their way home. Girls do the same but leave soarer marks and drop more tears to the ground. Dark glasses cover wide eyes as they walk under black clouds, and lovers love without leaving their beds to fall into it. The sun comes out, the temperature drops and the early worms are catching the birds.
It’s at night when the cruellest hypocrisies come out of hiding. Among the ideas that swim around in a place like this; this one turns windows into stages. Here, the days are private, and the nights are anything but. A flock of swallows circles a roof and turns it black as they land.
Glowing below, framed perfectly in a square window, a woman, more beautiful than most would dream about. She’s curling her hair on the edge of her bed, fine-tuning an already perfect picture. But it’s not what she sees nor what she would believe. There are scars on her arm, ‘I slipped’ she tells her friends or the one she has left. And they believe her, because who could imagine what goes on behind open her window? She’s fought another day and lost again. The flocks are on the move, casting shadows into the air, and the beautiful woman steps out of frame.
A tree is the next landing spot; within a second, its seats are full, and the crowd begins to settle down. Past the tree, there’s a balcony and past that, a man sits at his table. It’s where he eats, works and plans his next great adventure. And tonight is no different; he’s eating every word it pains him to hear, working out whether or not he’s up to the task and planning how to do it without letting anyone down. But he already knows all the answers. He’s been here before, with his fingers in his hair and a lump in his throat. An adventure with this much consequence requires a stronger will. He pulls his head up, glazing at the tree with red eyes and sees it’s filled with onlookers. Birds watching man, now that’s another for the list. But these shadows of the night aren’t ones to enjoy oglers, so they take flight once more.
There are too many eyes at this end of town, and the shadows cross the sky until they find the park. Nestled among the willows and oaks sits an old house. It’s a place without glowing windows or planning tables. It was forgotten long ago and reclaimed by those who need it whenever it’s found. Tonight its beams are in a chatty mood. Below them, another man, he’s here for the last time. Or at least that’s what he tells himself, and maybe tonight, his lies stop. Maybe this is the night his greed gets the better of him, or his guilt. Either one will do the job.
I would do it myself if I could, but this world has its limits. I’m not like those behind windows or tables. No legs stretch below me, and no fingers pull at my hair. All I have are the roofs they sleep under and the floors they put their tables on. I’m the trees lining the street, watching for guests to arrive. And the signposts, ready to redirect tourists who stumble off route as they compliment my charm. All I can do is watch and listen as the ideas guiding life around me compete for control. But it’s a feud as long as time herself, rocking back and forth like a metronome left in an empty house. But it's not all greed and guilt, lies and highs. Scars heal, plans change, and truths are told.
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Love, Luke