The life of a Window

 

I don’t particularly like being a window. Oh I know it is important being the eye of the building, though I always thought that was a bit pretentious. I just let the light in – or out – depending on the time of day.

 

But that is just it, I let the light pass, and no one sees me, even birds smash into me not seeing I am there. Makes you feel very unloved and uncared for. They do their best. They care for my cleanliness and occasionally my putty and even less occasionally the paint on my frame, but that is just so that I do my light letting through bit properly.

 

They would soon know if I went on holiday, not that I am allowed to, not even with a friend to look after me. If I went, and I do I say if, the wind and the rain would pour in to the room I leave behind and make the room uninhabitable and eventually all its contents would be destroyed, if they weren’t stolen. So I am very important you see, I just wish they would recognise it and tell me, let me know they care. But I just stay here and let the light in and out and withstand the weather.

 

The weather, that can be quite painful, especially when it is cold. They stoke up the heat in the room and I have a hot side on the inside and on the outside a cold side and the stress it sets up is chronic, makes it feel like I have broken something. Occasionally when the outside temperature warms and I am still cold, I get covered in haze or condensation. It doesn’t last long but does stop them seeing out till it clears.

 

It’s the clarity that they like most. I have a friend who is part of a glass wall in a room. But they don’t want him for his widow skills, it’s just so that the room looks bigger, and they can see what is going on in the other room. Not that it will look particularly good on his CV as he has no outside experience.

 

Something that I do like doing is shortening time. When father comes home from work, his child wants to be the first to see him, and he waits looking through me. I like that, even though it does mess me up with lots of small handprints and nose prints and tongue licks, but the excitement when they see their Dad down the road walking home is worth it.

 

Sometimes I can lengthen time, drag it out. Goodbyes seem to take longer and are more tearful when they watch the receding back walking away. I wish I could mist up then and make it easier for them. But I don’t, I can’t, it’s really not my place.

 

The best bit is being a useful needed part of the family and its home.