Hallam-Foe-risticism

I am by nature a voyeur. I used to, for a time, watch this girl in her window. I’d turn off my light as she did hers, before going to our respective windows, she smoking and watching the night come one, and me watching her watch the night.

We are almost directly opposite each other, but she never sees me. So for her I remain sadly but gladly non-existent.

The girth of her windows span one side of her room, so I have unobstructed view of the room’s interior. It was dangerous for me, getting to know her this way. I even almost fell in love with her, but didn’t, because I know she is incapable of love, or should I say, my kind of love, but that’s another story.

To admit, I had purchased a pair of binoculars and guiltily watch her move about her room. So far I’ve discovered that she is meticulous and neat in sporadic bursts, going about suddenly with the need to clean her entire room, she discards her articles of dirty clothing on the floor and she loves to read and write. She can read for hours on end, with that dreamy, engrossed look on her face, her legs splayed comfortably and carelessly across the bed.

But I have never spied on her when she is changing her clothes. She has this bad habit of almost always forgetting to draw the curtains when she changes, and thinks that turning her back against the windows would make a difference. The moment I realise she is about to change I always lower my binoculars. I don’t know why; it’s not that I don’t want to look. I admittedly do, but I can’t. The only glimpse I’ve had is her naked back glowing like a white unlit candle from afar.

~22nd. June 2006

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