These windows of blue lay in front of me

Their paint, once a bright navy blue, has faded while their bolts, a glistening silver, have rusted

Causing a faint but distinct creaking noise at their opening, just like a broken heart does when it is hesitant of initiating trust

Their patterns have stood the test of time

Their carpenter, now retired, passes by this street on his way home even though it takes him longer

He feels a prick of pride, just like the splinters of the wood on the curve of the points

The right window’s owner went out for a day at the coast while the left’s stayed in for a day of overthinking

The right’s owner is in his late eighties, named Sam and has a love for red wine and circus acts

while the left’s a young woman in her early twenties, named Adriana and had a love with whom she shared wine of all sorts while leaning against a pub echoing with jazz music.

Both live so close together, both see the same view of sunset and dawn but open their windows every morning to a different sight.

How beautiful and sad that an everyday choice can lead to a monument of achievement

(Image source: foxia)

Copyright © M.E.S.