A worn, tired old frame surrounds a window. The glass, still intact bar one, reflects on the passing world. A house… seen many lives pass through. What ghosts may linger within?
I stand transfixed.
Silence, then a whisper, “Why stand you there?”
The mind plays tricks but, no, again the whisper.
Reflections shimmer, the world outside fades, the face of a child appears, translucent.
She smiles, “Why stand you there?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m your child who never was.”
My paternal longing undone.
Tears well in my eyes, “My child?”
“Fear not father,” her face fades, the outside world returned.