Quiet window
Everything that happens, happens twice — once in the world, once in you.
I sit by the window and count everything I didn’t say today. I count them like coins, as if someone might spend them tomorrow.
The snow has already stopped. What remains is only a pale reminder in the air — that it was here, and will come again.
I have been quiet today in the way quiet things are quiet: not because they have nothing to say, but because they already know no one is listening.