We Were Windows

We sat on opposite couches,

But it always felt like two buildings

across a narrow alley.

Your stories lit up your face

like a late-night kitchen light;

mine flickered,

unsure if it was safe to stay on.

﹁﹂

You told me things

you’d never said out loud—

your father’s temper,

The way silence used to feel like punishment.

I watched the words fog the air between us,

little clouds on glass.

﹁﹂

I think we both mistook transparency for crossing over.

You knew the shape of my fears,

the exact pitch of my laugh

when it was real versus polite.

I knew which joke you’d reach for

when you were trying not to cry.

﹁﹂

Still, when it came time to choose—

move closer or pull the blinds—

We both just sat there,

hands on the cords,

hearts pressed against invisible panes,

pretending the view was enough.

﹁﹂

Sometimes I walk past places we shared

and see our reflections in the dark glass,

two ghosts in a storefront window

looking in at a life

We never let ourselves open the door to.