By the time I’m back, the lights may be off. 
Are you still there?
Did they burn out?
I no longer see inside.
Something unfamiliar, something unknown.
Your window has moved,
unless it hasn’t.
It was never mine to look through,
to observe so intimately.
Our windows don’t face each other,
all the lights are off.
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All That is Quiet, All That is Still

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Through Your Window