Vanished window

I noticed that the window on my wall has vanished. I do not remember when I saw it last but I am sure the window was there. I hadn’t opened it for a while but I remember the sights It held, they weren’t those ravishing panorama of nature, they were ordinary sights from daily life; original life.

I walked up to the wall, it is rigid and rough. The window has left no mark, no sings of it stayed. I leaned onto the wall and pressed my ears upon, I could hear those noises from the other side, noises from those ordinary lives; original lives.

I desire a glimpse for one last time. I would observe it all, I would enjoy every detail; I promise. I imagined those sights. Prosaic it was, sunshine carried humid hot air. Dusty winds and rustling leaves, crossroads to choose your journey but people sat on the pathway facing eviction and destitution.

I am sad. I am missing those sights and missing my window. My window was old, with perishing woods and rusted panes. Jammed to itself, abandoned and wrecked. Just like those sights it shown, the frame to it was mundane too. My window was my chance to see the world.

As I could remember, those sights were monotonous. Life when original is always so, on a canvas it would look beautiful though. Art was the fine line between the ugly and fancy. My window has vanished and the sights are blinded. In my imagination, remains a fantastic poetry.

Those ordinary sights are becoming my precious. The void wall, proved the power of something and nothing. One more chance, one last view. I am deprived, But the window has vanished and sights are afar. The original shrinks and imagination the widens.