The window fogged with
each breath she took,
her forehead pressed
against the cold pane.
Outside, rain hammered
the streetlights, turning
the asphalt into a mirror
of smeared orange. She
traced a line through the
condensation, watching a
drop race down the glass
and lose itself in the
sill's dampness.
He said he'd call when the storm passed.
Her phone sat on the
table, screen dark. The
radiator clicked and
sighed. She wiped the
glass again, but the fog
returned thicker, blurring
the cars that sloshed
past, their headlights
dissolving like sugar in
water. She pulled her
knees to her chest and
rested her chin on them,
letting the rain's rhythm
fill the silence.
The window kept her company, but it never answered.