I always loved that you lived in a one story house. Everything was ground level and it made things so easy for me. My mind shrieked in constant fear that one day you would move to a place with multiple floors. I don’t have a vehicle that can haul a ladder and I hate the idea of not being able to see you anymore.
My favorite view is the one that looks straight into your living room. I have always adored seeing you lying there passively on your couch, spinning your blonde hair mindlessly through your fingers as you watched your reality shows in the evening. These windows were my favorite because I could sit on the curb across the street and just look in without ever seeming suspicious. If anyone passed I would simply light a cigarette and pretend to be on a nightly walk. Thankfully, the street you live on isn’t busy enough to warrant doing this ruse all that much.
I always got frustrated when 10pm would roll around and your husband would begin shutting the blinds. I hated that man, hated him with all my passion. He was the one I saw hang these blinds in the living room and I’m sure on more than one occasion he has looked out and seen me and shot a look of disdain in my direction. I hate him for that, but not as much as I hate knowing he can never love you the way I do.
It was always worse when you would move into the dining room because that was when I would have to get close to the house and risk getting caught. Your house shared a driveway with a neighbor and I always worried that they would come out and see me peering through your broken blinds. My heart would swell watching you sit at your dining room table and balance your checkbooks for the day. It proved to me what I always knew: you were as smart as you were beautiful.
From there I would creep window to window down the house with you, watching as you would go into the kitchen and begin making a snack before bed. This was one of my favorite portions of the night because it was always the easiest spot to keep an eye on you from. You and your husband always parked your cars in such a way that I could hide in between them and watch you with ease. I would love watching you glide around the kitchen in just a tank top and underwear. Your porcelain skin would radiate under the glow of the kitchen light and your movement was almost angelic in nature. Never before had I seen a woman of such slender and grace move the way you did.
Then you would leave and head to the bedroom. It was here I had always wished to follow you. I wanted to lie in the bed next to you, to learn your smell and the curves of your body intimately. However, HE was always the problem. As you would head to the bedroom I would always slide through your darkened backyard and peer at HIM in the office.
He would always sit there, his glasses reflecting all the words he would let flow from his mind to his fingers, and he would appear to be writing the next great masterpiece. I hated him for it. Just by looking at him I could see he was moronic and nothing more than a neanderthal. It was easy to see just from looking at the way his face had been chiseled. If only you knew how I could write, which is full of beauty and poetry. I would make you seem like the queen that you are and show you how you were trapped by this miserable troll.
Sometimes, peering in at him as I often did, I would point the gun I was oft to carry on me at the window. I would image letting my finger slide around the trigger and feeling the cold metal against my skin. A smile would always sneak across my face as I imagined pulling the trigger, hearing the shatter of glass and watching as the bullet entered his frontal lobe and exiting with a flurry of brain matter out the back.
But I never did. Instead I would walk around the side of the house, making sure not to bump into the chainlink fence your neighbors have. I remember the first time I had ran into it and it made your dog bark. I hated that dog for a moment, ruining my nightly ritual of listening to you peacefully sleep, but in the long run I am thankful for what that mutt did and the laziness of your husband. The busted blinds behind your bed has now given me a better image. It’s a view of you and oh how I cannot count the times I have fallen asleep dreaming of that view and imaging myself next to you.
I watch now, as you and your husband sleep with the dog dutifully sleeping near the door. I watch as your frame gently rises and falls and I count the amount of time it takes for you to inhale and then exhale. I wonder what you’re dreaming about and can only imagine that your dreams are as beautiful as you. I wonder if you know that I watch over you, protect you, keep you safe. People often say they know when they’re being watched. Do you feel that way and do you feel safe?
For both our sakes, I hope you do.