He could see out the window if I let him in and tell me if the colors I see are coming from the sun. It's soon after the sky is dark, no quite black, that I hear him walking. I wish I could see him. Then I could invite him in. He's big enough to take me home.
Every day is the same.
I long to see the man with the shoes, whose steps sound so painful, who I see in my sleep. My feet are small, but I'm used to walking. I needed to go, if only I could see the sky. I imagine what he must look like. He has bad posture and is tall.