the open window

i sit near my window, looking out at the rising sun. the clock on my bedroom wall points its black arms at 5 in the morning. there is a smell of rotting food in my apartment, waste not thrown away, nutrition gone down drain. my stomach growls. a mug with red marks around its edge sits at my desk, bordeaux streaks running down and the smell of red wine wafts from it.

i have stayed up all night, again. my phone buzzes with a notification - there was a school shooting, and an earthquake, and the ebola virus is spreading. my eyes are sore and i have a headache, but i stay up a bit longer, look towards the sunrise. i have been thinking about the woman on the tram, the one who was writing her suicide note. sometimes, as i sit here, i jerk from fear, thinking that she is looking at me, but it is only me reflection in the window. i stand up and go over to it, leaning my elbows on the windowsill. a dying plant in a pot is next to me.

i draw my eyes away from the sunrise and toward the apartment complex opposite mine. there is a lonely figure in one window, too. pacing around, getting ready for work or for bed. i do not know that person, but consider them my neighbour. i often look into that window and see that they, too, are up, with me. sometimes they look back and i wave at them and they wave at me. i think they have a cat, or a dog, or a child, or a partner. maybe even a spouse. but they do not notice me today and after a few minutes, i no longer see their silhouette. they must have left.

the first tram rides at this hour. i hear its bell, quieted so as to not disturb anyone, and then i see it ride, loudly. there are only a few people inside. most of them look tired, somebody is holding a piece of paper or a notepad or a tissue. their other hand is moving, almost as if writing. they look out the window for a moment, for a moment they glance, and for a moment they see me. i wave at them but it's already too late. the tram scrambles past and the person is looking back down.

i open the window and let the fresh air in. it is chilly, it was raining in the night and there are still some puddles on the asphalt. slowly, the city wakes, people go out, black umbrellas in hands, occasionally a colourful one. they are adults, most of them. some look younger. the first to wake are the trash collectors and the tram drivers and the street cleaners and the bakers. then come the baristas and the waiters and the shop assistants. i don't think any one of them have really gone to bed, and even if they did, the rest was probably cut short by an earsplitting alarm clock. mine rings in the moment and i go for my phone to turn it off.

i lean my body a bit closer towards the open window after returning to it. a light drizzle starts, the sky is cloudy, a draft of cold air flies into my apartment. i am wearing shorts and my black t-shirt. my mouth is dry and feels bad, i should brush my teeth. but i stay for a bit longer near the window. i lean closer, trying to look down at the sidewalk that's directly below my building. the only thing i see are the tops of black umbrellas. i have an urge to climb my windowsill but the ring of another tram wakes me up. i go brush my teeth.