open

three mesh screens and the urge to climb are all that keep me safe in my apartment. The voices of people on the sidewalks come inside. Their conversations float up to me as they pass. I hate them and I love them.

I could close the windows.

but it reminds me that I'm alive, that I'm not alone, that something else exists out there outside of myself. even if it is the beep of a cop's walkie talkie, and the voices scream expletives, and sometimes I wonder how long it will take the gentrification wave to absorb the ghetto building, and if anyone else cares.

in the morning, the birds slowly begin a constant chattering, a conversation brought closer by tree branches outside my window, and it is a steady chatter that pauses only for the lawn mowing equipment noises.

tonight, the windows gave me a group of people singing and playing the guitar. I hated them for singing so loudly so late, but I loved them for being together, walking down the street, singing a song.

when he is here I feel safe and content and sleepy and when he is gone it is impossible to find sleep, the voices outside scare me and I long for the quiet streets I knew.