She lived across the alleyway. A different apartment complex, but I saw her every night when she stood at her window, staring out into the nothingness because the city had polluted the stars. There was a small glow on the tip of the cigarette in her hand, moving occasionally with the rest of her body, swaying to some silent music inside of her head. The moon lit part of her face for a good portion of the time she stood there, and the half that it lit was beautiful.
Sometimes she had clothes on. Sometimes she didn’t.
Sometimes I could hear her sigh -- imagine that she was sighing through the glass pane. In the summer, with the windows open to let hot air out and back in again, her sigh would drift across the small gap between her life and mine.
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