A boy watches silhouettes walk around the neighbour’s house.
The light’s on in the bedroom. Are they alone tonight? Or tomorrow or any given night this week?
Night windows show the post declutter calm. A sad anticlimax and an empty room. Lonely footsteps back and forth. A wait of the modern age.
They don’t care if they don’t reply. He can’t see the tears landing on their phone. Waiting for a message while they sleep. It is folly.