Window

I'm posting a text that I wrote years ago, more precisely in 2003. It's slightly based on real events, but it's primarily a literary work.

Window

From my roof, I see a window. In fact, I see many. Some are always open, some never. There are those with flowers, there are the serious one, or filled with cats. This one, however, is a mystery. There was a phosphorescent dinosaur model. Gone. There was a guitar. Disappeared. Countless times the open shutters showed the dark doors of an opened closet. Yet other times, clothes on the sill.

However, in it I never saw people. Not a person. Not a movement. Mystery.

The window watched me. I walked on the roof. I sang with my sister. Tossed a ball. Retrieved a ball. Toasted barbecue. Swept. It rained. And the window always there, watching me.

She knew my secrets, my crying in secret corners of her shingles, my happy songs, my maths homeworks, and I, what did I knew of her? I knew it was pure fear, an ever-present eye, overwhelming.

Years went by.

And he turns to me: you're my neighbour!
Me: huh?
I've seen you on the roof!
But how?
It's my window.

The minutes. He knew everything about me. What did I know?

Was it yours, the dinosaur on the window?
He: wow.
Fear.

It was all I knew. He knew everything. But he invaded the roof, I peered the room. Surprise.

Why on the roof?
Why the dinosaur?

We faced each other. Unsustainable. Two who knew one the other in unspeakable and unmentionable details. The start of something?

The end of everything.

I didn't go up to the roof.
He closed the window.
We moved.