The Girl at the Window

I am the girl.

 A curious child staring out the window. Nose pressed up against the ice-cold glass where rain drop race. The road shimmers like fairy dust. The lamps have bright circles like saints but the winter wind still blows and the dark clouds still spit. Like grand curtains to a famous show, they open to reveal the moon. A white magnificent sphere floating in the bed of grey clouds. The stars blink as if even they can't fathom seeing something so elegant.

My dad should be home soon, so I wait at the window. I wait. I wait. I wait as the cars fly past, waiting for the one that will return to the it's spot on the lonely driveway. The wind whistles outside like an out of tune song bird.

I am the wind.

 Invisible, invincible, force; I run like lightning across the empty streets; rain in my face. I whistle and scream around corners warning people that this is just the beginning. The moon shines over my shoulder like a disco ball. I crash though trees and bushes until their leaves follow in my wake. I see a man wrapped up in coal black clothes step out of a car. I race past him with exhilarating speed slamming the car door shut. He shivers but keeps walking. I decide he's no fun so I go and play in the sky instead.

I am the sky. 

The hopeless observer of the broken land beneath me. The land where the wind is free to play and the raindrops are diamonds shattering on the earth beneath me. I can only watch. Sometimes, When the clouds don't cover my face, I can see people out having fun in parks and on the street. But today is not one of those days. It is a dark night with a fiery storm brewing. I look with my pearl eye through small breaks in the cloud. I can see one solitary man who dares to walk in the rain.

I am the rain. 

The one who brings misery to all. I fall on the road, the paths, the houses, in gardens releasing my sweet earthy smell into the air. The moon turns my plain droplets to silver tears which fall and explode on the bridge. I make the river rise and flow at speed the wind can't match; hiding sharp rocks and litter. The wind pushes me into the walls of houses, the metal of the railings and the face of a man.

I am the man. 

Worthless, unwanted and tired. The rails slip in my grasp but I manage to pull myself over and stand on the ledge. The wind smashes raindrops in my face and the moon makes the water seem welcoming. My reflection dances on the river's fast flowing surface. I let go of the railings and fall. No one will miss me. I am no one. 

I know it's to late now... but I think of my little girl waiting for me. 

Who will tell her that Dad's not coming home?