My Window

This is my very first post in this forum and if it's not too much to ask... please be nice? About this piece, I actually wrote it about two years ago and I'm really proud of how it came out considering I wrote this when I was a freshman in high school and dealing with English as my second language... So, tell me what you think (:

My Window

I like windows; they always have a story to tell. My neighborhood in this case, has entrusted me with many stories; the ones from the many sunsets I’ve seen, the late night wanderers, and the crying women. I live on the edge of a busy avenue. Every day I see cars passing in a rush, its owners minding the traffic. I see people through the quiet strips between the blinds, too worried about their destination, but not about their journey. No one understands this, but me. The world ages, and my eyes do too. My window tells a much different story than from the very first time I leaned in to see.

On the other edge of the street there used to be a green meadow. Now it’s dead and brown; dead earth to be turned into an adjacent street. Each day, the sun is taunted by the rising buildings that one by one steal my window. Life changes into something contorted. I see passing kids, coming back from school’s afternoon shift. Laughing and joking, blindfolded of truths placed beyond their eyes, beyond a fence they do not dare to jump over.

My neighborhood has as well changed, it became silent and tranquil. The playing children aren’t children anymore; we have taken different ways. In the night’s muted sound I sometimes hear a confused drunk who certainly believes he is gifted with singing abilities, or a crying woman who had no other option that finding protection in the midst of darkness. I wonder how come I’ve never noticed these things before, why is that all of a sudden I found out. Why life has changed bitterly. Why do people quickly go by the side walk, or why cars rush noisily, why buildings grow taller and taller, why must all change? And while I look out to my window suffering someone else’s blindness, I realize life’s just life and I’m just an observer, an observer with her window.