Window.

The corner room on the first floor of a run down motel. It was cheap. I needed to save money.

I had time to kill. A thin sheen of sweat covered me. It was humid, not in an unpleasant way. I stood against the window, behind the grill. It was slightly windy outside. A cool breeze wafted in every now and then. The feel of the wind as it evaporated the sweat off my skin made me feel at peace. A lazy peace. The curtain covered half of the window while I covered the other half. The street light hid me in shadows, the grill painted on my skin. The palm tree outside was half lit, half in shadows- sinister is how I would describe it. It appeared to be reaching out for me, like it had for every person who had stood behind that window. Such everlasting yearning. If only I could talk to it... or maybe not. It was better this way. It was 10:30p.m. I saw couples walk on the road, holding hands. I saw a drunkard trying to fight with himself for control. I saw a man who stumbled while walking and looked around furtively, embarrassed perhaps. I saw him regain his composure as he found out that nobody was observing him or so he thought. I saw all of them as I stood behind the grill. My prison or was I the only one free? I stood there, lost in the wind as it talked to the palm tree. The rustling noises almost decipherable. Almost. The street my very own theater. An hour had passed by. I decided to light a cigarette. The time had nothing to do with it. But an hour had passed. That has to be important. Something worth noting down.
The sky was partially cloudy. The stars peeked at me every now and then, before they disappeared behind the floating clouds. Strange. Majestic as the stars are, to be hidden by thin masses of gas. Strange but hardly surprising. Surprises. They don't come my way very often. I feel numb. Old at times. I can stay here forever- in a cocoon of shadows, sweat and cool wind. Watching. It is scary, but I am not scared. There is a rhythm to all of this and I am a part of it. It will go away once I abandon this post. So, I decide to stay for some time more. My cigarette is almost burnt out. I throw it out of the window. I watch it fall. My bid to let the outside or the inside world know I am there. To let it know that I exist. It goes unnoticed.
The road is deserted now. It looks beautiful. Black. Every now and then the illusion of beauty is destroyed by the headlights of a passing car. It is immediately restored. I find it fascinating- the immediate restoring of the beauty. A thought touches my conscience and escapes before I can grab it. That thought would have made sense of it all. But, it has gone away now. I think about it for a while. Then, I let it go. I see a bike stop on the side of the road. The man gets off the bike and lights a smoke. The two of us smoke. Each lost in our own world. This is strangely addictive. I feel tired but I want to stay here. The phone rings. The wires that connect me to my other self snatch me away. The window loses its allure. It will always stay with me, though. The fact that I could live there. Behind a window.