A window I passed fleetingly. But to have a coffee beneath these wooden shutters, to study the weed that climb the stone wall with their delicate violet petals. How many eyes have searched a nights sky for the moon from these wooden slats. How many lives have prayed for their unrequited love, reconnected the stars with heavy fingertips after nights intertwined. This window, the opening and closing of generations of love.

 
 
Rebecca+Rose+Harris