The window became my tv.
I watched the rain for a few years,
and each season come and go.
I can't recall blinking much.
I saw fall hit the town
like fists on their backs.
And in the summer,
when we walked through the town,
I realized how much I had grown.
But my hands kept to the ground,
and I never really said too much.
When I woke up one spring night in Boston,
I realized I was ok,
as I walked to the apartment building's front door
and made my way onto the sidewalks.
Love didn't suit me,
or any idea of such a thing.
I believed in the area,
the stupid arguements,
every time I coughed,
and the last day we were us.
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