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