The Window

I sit and stare out the window, in a state of melancholy; into the brilliant sulight,
And yet, I see nothing.
I notice not the birds flying from tree to tree, landing on the ground in search of food; gathering bits of grass and twigs to make their nests.
I see not the gardens with flowers abloom in dazzling colors of the rainbow, nor do I smell their luxurious, pillow-soft aroma as it drifts upon the breeze.
I notice not the people walking past my window, taking paths that will lead them on journeys of discovery.
I hear not their laughter nor do I hear their words carried upon the breeze.
My window is closed and locked tight.
I sit and stare, lost in my own world and thought.
I am a prisoner.
Not your normal prisoner for there are no bars or chains to keep me locked in.
There is no guard at my door preventing me from leaving; no warden watching over me.
But, I am a prisoner none-the-less.
I could reach out and unlock the window and let in the breeze and all that would enter with it; for the locks are from within.
Not on the window, but on my heart.
I have done my best to keep life at bay, not letting it touch me.
I am sterile.
I have no feeling, only fears.
Fear of hate, fear of love, fear of life.
I sit and stare, wondering how one can be so lost in darkness amid the sunlight.
Afraid of the answer, I pull the shade and turn away.