I sink curled up into myself upon this bed, slowly shifting upwards towards the window. Even though tiny hot pokers are threatening to break through the skin of my lower back, the thought utmost in my mind is – I love windows. After-all, this pain is familiar, a cyclical shedding of woman’s blood as I once again refuse nature’s mandate… so I think about windows.
French windows, bay windows, the bigger the better – I love windows. It’s probably the image of the little girl lost or yearning woman waiting that appeals to me so much. Windows, separating the in from the out – the included from the excluded – the outsider. Looking in or out, wanting to be there not here.
I often wonder. Does anybody notice that I always go for the seat against the wall. No matter where I am, home of a friend or a public place – no one should be able to come up behind me when I’m sitting down and vulnerable. Of course, no one has noticed before but will anybody notice ever?
For now, I look out this window and the pain gradually get better. Windows, one of my favourite things.