You look out the window , only to see a face staring right back at you . Whose is it ? Why are they there ?

Late, rainy, all the things I love. I see him in the window, the lines of his face, the blank stare convey desires to want in. Only the desires to want in, though not wanting in. Gracefully gazing yet disturbingly locked in stare our eyes take small, examining shifts. This is a rarely comfortable exchange. Peering into the soul of the stranger in the window I see a broken man. His eyes emit a knowledge, a sadness. I wish to help him, but with the constraints that bind I can not. Thoughts of `` You must understand, I ca n't'' and `` The risks are too high'' do not comfort this man or moreover he knows and they have no effect. The rain pours, now knee high, the man stands unaffected. He is resolute to his destiny. Sinking in the now saturated ground, we both sink lower. 
 
 The fear this will be our last encounter is the calm warmth of emotions keeping us locked into each other. This is our letting go. A range of thoughts and possibilities emit as we press our hands together on the glass. The things that could have been in a perfect, no... not even perfect, just... a different world. He knows I must let him go. The reality of the moment and our perceptions of the world congeal as I lift my forehead from the glass to see him for the last time. The water has risen and even if he could escape the rising quicksand of mud and root that binds him he would n't. 
 
 I missed you. I think as I take one last stare. I missed the goal. What could have been, who *I* could have been. A flash of lightening and it was gone. The lessens learned from introspection.
