The Window.

She stood everyday and waited. Waited for the snow. Waited for the spring. She watched the world change and fall. She looked on as lovers became companions. As friends became hateful through jealousy and age. She laughed at new born’s, and secretly danced with the old. She cried when the young were laid in the earth, and looked away, when someone walked by alone. She hid behind glass and wood. She tore at her skin and bit through her lips. She took apart her body as she waited. A broken Miss Havisham. No one knew she was there. No shadows of her body graced the walls or walked in the light. She played make-believe in her cell. Flowers died around her. The sun gave up the fight of trying to break through dirt and grime. Her window was a looking-glass to a life, a life that was never meant to be had. Her body turned to dust and sand, gathered in a corner, still waiting to be released.

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About Rebecca Windsor

I'm an actor and writer living in London. View all posts by Rebecca Windsor

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