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The Window

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I studied the rain drops glide down the glass of the window.
I voluntarily let the nostalgia pound at my chest.
With every aching memory, I finally shed the tears that were trying to evaporate instead of pour out.
Eventually, the window and I had the same amount of water drip downward upon us.
I am the window.
Still and innocently being pounded with the various weather.
Some days it's cold.
I go frozen.
I go numb.
Other days, its scorching hot.
The temperature rises.
My temper increases.
But no matter the weather, the window is always just there.
Taking up room.
Taking up space.
I'm always just there.
Taking up room.
Taking up space. 

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