The world moves,
and I remain still-
a silent witness framed in wood and glass.

Outside, the sky shifts without effort,
clouds drifting like thoughts
too light to hold.

A bird lands on the edge of a branch,
uncertain, then certain.
Its wings remember what I've
forgotten.

The wind touches the leaves,
but never asks them to follow.

Children pass by,
laughter like water spilled on stone-
brief,bright,and gone.

Time does not knock.
It leans against the light,
stretching shadows across the floor.

Inside,the dust rises
with every breath I take,
dancing in the quiet
as if it,too,wants to been seen.

And I wonder-
how many lives
begin and end
in the space between
looking out
and stepping through.