During class, bored, while my classmates talk, I look past their heads, and there would always be a window, why? Maybe the calm, and the peace of nature, maybe the feel of warmth, a break, or maybe because of the lighting to make themselves more presentable? I saw the sides of skyscrapers, the streets of manhattan.
Outside mine, I see the roof of the house next door. I say mine, but how true is that? We all share the window, it’s the only one that looked out. I see the dirty, unclean cement. The various bottles tenants above me threw. And at nights, when the wind blew, I could hear them too, Hallow sounds that remind me where I was. I could hear them roll and I could hear them crash onto the railing, taunting me.
I see the ugly sights, the back of buildings, bare of paint, why bother to make something pretty if it doesn’t matter. I see the yellow water stains no one bothered to cover and the awkwardly placed cement yards. I see the tree, the giant tree, whose limbs are like tentacles, reaching towards the sky, Ugly in every way.
I wanted their windows, I wanted the pretty views of the Hudson River, I wanted to see the tops of towering buildings of various heights, like a new world above the peasants in the streets I want to be able to sit there, looking out.
I want to just go to class, not caring what was in view of my peers, But here I am, Hiding the unsightly, dirty, second-hand trinkets of my apartment, shoving them in unconventional places, out of sight. Framing my video to the nice spots, but even then, we all knew, just how different I was. I didn’t have pretty views, not even close.

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