I sit in the window sill.
The cold cuts straight through
And gives my bones a chill.
The window and I think of you.
My head rests on the frozen glass,
Too young to understand.
A single thought I'd hate to ask.
How could this happen over a man?
This icy window is my home,
Its coldness is my heat.
I think of you. You are your own.
Sister, you cannot be beat.
Winter is fast coming;
I see it through this pane.
Missing you is physically numbing;
The frostbite has no pain.
I breathe upon the cold, cold window.
I draw on it a face with a smile.
Everyday I do this. It's routine-sad, I know.
It's worth it to be happy for just a little while.
The window seems like it's smudging.
I cannot quite see through.
You seem to be the only one not judging.
A knock; I won't answer unless it's you.
I've been in this smudged window
For a while now.
I want to learn everything you know.
I want to know how.
How could a window become my home?
How could I think that I belong?
How could I pretend I was all alone
When you were watching out all along?
I see something on the glass.
For a second, I fear.
Then, I relax.
It's nothing but my tears.
My fingerprints and tears
Smudge the window glass.
I must have no fears.
The question I must never ask.
I am just a little girl.
You have grown and left.
The coldness of the world
Has almost stopped my beating chest.
I've grown up and had to move on, as you should know.
To keep sane, I pretend that I matter.
I took that broken, cracked, smudged, little window
To my home at my husband's Manor.
A/N: Likie? Yes? No? Lemme know!