Why are people so afraid of things outside their windows? The monster, the killer, the pervert. Just because it's outside the window, it must be sinister, so the story goes. I've never had ill intentions for looking in your window. I turn away when it seems you'd rather be alone. I long to reach out and comfort you in your anguish. To join you in your celebrations. I'm not out here to hide from you, but simply because I'm not allowed in. The revelries are yours, not mine. It's not my place to intrude upon them. The best I can manage is staying nearby, and observing.
And yet, on the rare occasion that I'm noticed, panic grips your heart. I can see it in your eyes. You think me a fiend. A predator. A nightmare. Simply because I'm not already inside with you. It hurts, every time it happens. Sometimes so badly that I must pull back for a time, conceal myself, avert my gaze. Return to a deeper solitude. Lick my wounds, and come back when I feel ready. It takes longer each time. Someday, I may decide to just stay alone.
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