Inside. Outside.

There comes a time when it does not matter
what side of the window you live in.

The yearning that punctuated your decades
is gone.

And you can finally see windows for what they are.
A space to see where you can, will, and do…. go.

About this poem

Still living the reflective hangover of another birthday. If you were to go way, way, way back in my poems, you would find a lot of poems with window metaphors, seeing windows more as a barrier, a false wall to where I wanted to be as I struggled with my depression.

Today, the depression is still there, But years of battling have made me crafty. I am way better off. And I no longer see it as a barrier, just a damned nuisance.

It’s good to mark your progress. (Little Dad dance).

The picture is of an old mill in Massachusetts that has now burned to the ground.

Tom