A World Outside Our Window

We sat on the windowsill and watched the clouds roll across the sky

and the trees swish in the breeze

and the people live wild and vibrant lives

We sat on the windowsill and wrote letters to Santa Clause,

and stories of faraway places

and songs that still managed to be out of tune

We sat on the windowsill and imagined what adventures awaited us

and which places we would go

and who we would fall in love with

We sat on the windowsill and felt the warm breeze blow across our cheeks

and the childhood slip away from our hearts

and the time leave our lungs

We sat on the windowsill and tasted the passing freedom of an easy life

and the sweetness of young love

and the bitter taste of heartache

We sat on the windowsill and heard the birds chirping happily,

and the kettle boil for afternoon tea

and the door closing behind the one person we thought would stay

We sat on the windowsill and lied about how many times we'd been kissed to seem cool

and about the grades we got to make mum and dad proud

and about the feelings we felt that we were not "supposed" to feel.

We sat on the windowsill and thought about all the things we could never see

and about all the memories we'd eventually forget

and about all the lives we could have lived but didn't get to

But life was not on that windowsill.

Life was outside

and inside

and all around

and through

The world outside the window was more than what we could watch

or write about

or imagine

or feel

or taste

or hear

or lie about

or think about

It was everything, but we would never know it if we stayed on that windowsill.