Well, that was the quickest I’ve responded to any prompt. This one was to ‘Turn off the noise. Go to a window. Write what you see, feel and/or want in a stream-of-consciousness form.’ I suppose that ought to have come out as a stream about myself but this turned into another character. Strange.
This stream is stuck at the window,
one way glazing, reflecting me
and the room I’m in. A room
of my own, sadly. Single bed,
desk, bookshelves. Books might
furnish a room but cosy they’re not.
You are out there, too far away
to be looking in. Could I scrape
a hole in the half silvered layer: no
going back from that. To see
what watches me, look into
another’s eyes. Scary.
Perhaps there is another room
there, someone thinking as I do.
Or, just a mirror and eyes
I’d rather not gaze into.