Window

I’m scared of seeing someone peeping through the window. Another form on the other side of the room. Looking, staring and moving stealthily.

ImageYesterday I saw a pair of legs hanging. Legs or cardigan arms. Did you see them?

But, I can see through your window, the orange light seeping through your pale cream curtains. I can even hear your voices. You’re on the third floor, one block away, a park in between. Can you see me?
I have a cream coloured curtain with purple leaves on it.  I have a small window, not a cluster of many like yours.
You know, I wanted to see how my window looks from a distance; can you see the colour of the light inside?
Do you see me when I walk up to the balcony and bend down to see the road below, and to look through your window, do you see me move?
It is eleven fifty one, one room is still on, on the building to my right, can you see her kitchen, where her cooks cook so diligently, wearing their black aprons all tidy and precise.
I can see you, I can even hear you but you do see me?

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