I need a window. Large enough to light the room. And a view to get a better perspective, of things to come, as life passes by every moment. My room isn’t that spacious. So I want the window to be an extension my room into the world. Into others lives. Just to understand how they cope with theirs. Breathe it in and could only take in what’s necessary and ignore the rest. Like a routine. I also would like to catch wind from the corners that we seldom pay attention to. The inhabitable part of the cosmos that still somehow seem to support life. I do not want a glass pane blocking the wind. Neither a window that I could shut. I have no desire to. I want to let it all in, overwhelm me, so I don’t have to go to the mirror to assert my existence. I want to keep these senses fed. I want to catch the stench in the air too, as the world decays, scavenged by us petty humans. The burning smell of desire that grew fiery into greed and lust. I want to wait till they all blow away as dust. May be I should get drapes, just in case. I have enough sorrow drowning this cube, I don’t want the rain splashing in. The drain doesn’t work all the time. And it helps me to be more functional when apartment is dysfunctional. So I can put them under the chores to do when I’m done gazing through this window. I like the window to be either north or south faced so I could catch the sun rise for a few days and set for some, from the same window. It’ll be just few days in a year. At least I won’t have to catch the sun at a regular time. I hate routine. But wouldn’t it be one in the long run. Everything is a routine, even trying to break from one. Now the night time is even more important. Just the skies, no lines. I wouldn’t mind the buildings during the day. But I wish they settle down at night. Better crash at sundown so people can go home and not worry about returning to work. No street lights. I want to welcome the photons that had traveled millions of light years alone in the vast emptiness just so they could fire up my rods and cones. I don’t want for something from across the street even hindering their way. I want to draw them stars in an imaginary plane where my glass pane could be in the window, for them to shine during the day. For a moment when I blink. Just to keep my hopes up. Just as I’m gazing at them at night from a distance too far, I wish to imagine what’s behind them stars. And is there a perspective, one opposing mine, one among those stars, behind that dark veil, where I shine. Momentarily, before I fall.
Painting – Office in a Small City by Edward Hopper