I stop where the old building leans into the night

I stop where the old building leans into the night,

the window I watched streetlights flicker through

like a dull heartbeat.

Yellowed curtains shift, caught in a breath of wind,

threads fraying against the cracked glass,

a fragile barrier between then and now.

Inside, shadows crowd the corners,

memories pressing against the pane,

some silent things I couldn’t face.

The orange glow spills across the sill,

streaking faded dust,

and the night settles in without asking

if I’m ready to watch it fall again.