The silence of the window

Windows are not just glass frames on the wall. He is the eye of the house that never sleeps. From behind it, morning came with soft rays, tapping the glass with tips of light. From there, twilight paints the sky with colors that are never the same, whispering stories that only the window understands. Rain often drops, dancing on its surface, leaving a trail of water that slowly disappears. The wind slipped in, carrying the scent of wet earth and the whisper of a long journey. The window never asks, but it is always a patient listener - keeping the secrets of the sky, longing that is suppressed, and memories that are reluctant to leave.

At night, the window becomes a mirror for the stars. The light from inside the house meets the darkness outside, creating a thin boundary between warmth and silence. Sometimes, someone's image is reflected in the glass, standing for a long time as if waiting for something. Maybe an answer. Maybe it's just the wind that comes and brings forgotten memories. However, windows also know the meaning of silence. There are days when the curtains are drawn tight, when no eyes look out, and no light comes in. He just stood there, silent, a silent witness to the passing of time. But windows are never truly dead—because behind them, there is always a world waiting to be seen again.