The Tower

I sit alone and look out the window; I can see the people down below.

Their shouting and laughter rises towards me, I can see from here that they are having a good time. I watch them jealously, would like to be a part of them. They never look up, never notice me.

Sometimes I turn and look at the rough stone stairway down. It leads to a door to the outside, to them. I wish I could just walk down and join them but the door is locked.

I watch some more; they are laughing. I would try to call their attention to me but I know it's futile. Why would they notice me, alone, up here. And even if they saw me, they wouldn't be interested. A moment of pity before they continue their conversation, but no more. So I don't bother calling out, waving. It would be worse to see them stare up here and then return to their fun.

Other times I wander down the stairs, frustrated. The door is huge, the lock rusty. It is thick steel, made to withstand an onslaught of force. I stare at it a moment and then walk back up. My steps echo in the tower as I move back to my spot on the ledge.

They are still there, having fun. Sometimes someone leaves but then more arrive, the crowd doesn't thin. If I lean out a bit, I can smell the summer breeze they are enjoying. I don't want to be alone anymore.

In the end, I lie down in a corner, away from the sun shining through the window. I close my eyes and pretend I can't hear them, but I can.

Dreams will take me out of here soon. Dreams of them: coming in, pulling me out of the tower to join them. They are lovely dreams but I know that's all they are. It will never happen. The lock is on the wrong side of the door for them ever to come to me.