conversation with my window.

"what're you staring at?"

"nothing."

"you're staring at something. you're staring at me."

"that's because you're my window. you're there for me to look through."

"is that all i am to you? just a window?"

"well, kind of. yes."

"ever noticed how i'm always locked, to keep the bad things away?"

"demons can sift through even locked windows."

"yes but demons aren't real. or, well, the ones i'm talking about. haven't you noticed how my blinds are always open just enough for the moonlight to to reach your bed at midnight? and haven't you noticed how i heat up this lovely little chair over here for you to sit in when you get home? ever noticed how comfortable it is?"

"...you're serious?"

"as serious as a window could be."

"how serious is that?"

"ask yourself where you'd be without me. alone in a dark room, that's where. when you were in the fourth grade, and you had to draw that picture of your room, did you leave me out? no. admit it, i'm important to you, too. but it feels like you're taking advantage of me. when you dance around in your underwear at night, singing out of tune, who makes sure the outside world doesn't ridicule you? me. when you're lying in your bed in the morning, hating monday, what's the one thing you tell yourself you'd kill for more? the sunlight coming from me."

"i can do just find on my own, thank you very much."

"so you can survive without me? and you can't get another window."

"maybe... maybe i can. i'll need some time to think about it."

"well, you think about it while you sleep. you need sleep, i'm sick of staring at those bags under your eyes. and i know you're not that fond of the dark, so i'm happy to say there's a full moon out tonight."

"you really are a good window."

"i try."