The Window

It is a big window with white curtains. At night, when the lights are on, I can see a painting on the wall. It is black and white and it shows the Eiffel Tower while being built.

That window is the window of a warm, cozy room. I can see the books on the shelves, there are hundreds of books, beautiful books in many languages, books from all around the world, from all the countries I would like to visit. I can’t see the carpets but they are thick and red and soft. Right under the window there is the sofa. It is a beige, comfy sofa, with two blankets lying on it. The blankets have Mexican patterns and they keep me warm when I read and drink tea on rainy Sunday afternoons. On one of the blankets is now sleeping a black cat. She is fat and she is purry and she loves the smell of old books in many languages.

Sometimes, I see people in the room. I don’t know who they are. I ask them to leave because I want to be alone but they won’t listen to me. They laugh and smoke and talk loud. Probably they are spilling red wine on my beige sofa and probably they are wearing their shoes on my red carpet. And it has been raining for two days, look at all this mud. My black, fat cat doesn’t like people so she is probably frightened now, hiding behind the bookshelves. I know I am frightened and I like people a bit… If only these people had left already…

The rain has stopped. I keep sitting on the wet bench, across the street from that window. The window. My window. I will have to go home soon and make dinner. They need me. They need me for cooking, for helping with homework, for grocery shopping. Nobody asks me what I need. Well, I need to travel the world. Or at least to Paris. On the other hand, a room with many books and a comfy beige sofa with two Mexican blankets and a black, fat cat,  purring on the red carpet would make me so happy. I don’t even need it every day, only on rainy Sunday afternoons. But it has to be people free. Even though I like people. A little. And not always.


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