Look Through My Window

(Phillips)

And the rain beats on my roof

And it does not ask for proof

It's not that lovers are unkind

He always said there'd come a time

When one would leave and one stay behind

We both knew people sometimes change

And lovers sometimes rearrange

And nothing's quite as sure as change

And the rain beats on my roof

Look through my window to the street below

See the people hurryin' by

With someone to meet, some place to go

And I know I should let go

He always said "I'm not like you"

"When love is dead for me it's through"

"And I will find and love someone new"

Look through my window, yeah, to the street below

See the people hurryin' by

With someone to meet, some place to go

And I know I should let go

I must admit he knew his mind

And it will not take him long to find

Another place where the sun will shine

And the rain beats on my roof

If I still require proof

Well the rain beats on my roof (He's gone)

If I still require proof (He's gone)

Well the rain beats on my roof (Look through my window)

If I still require proof (All the people)

Well the rain beats on my roof (I love him)

If I still require proof (He's gone)

***************************************

From his vantage point, he can see all of Tremont, busy on this damp Monday afternoon. The buzz of the traffic, the local inhabitants, hurrying to their next rendezvous. Valentine's day, he had no one to meet, no place to go. He couldn't bear to go to work. All that red, the hearts and stupid Cupid decorations his staff insisted on. Better to work from home today.

At Babylon the previous Saturday night, no one caught his eye. It was inevitable that his ‘one time only' rule would come to bite him on the ass. No one left to do. He made a pointless trip to the backroom only to slip out into the alley then head for the diner. The guys never questioned his absence from the club nor his early arrival at the diner. His friends joined him in his booth to gossip. He nodded and smirked a few times then pushed his way out, grunting a goodnight.

Monday afternoon with no place to be, no where to go, no one to be with.

He crossed to the book shelves and began to reorganize, sighing loudly at the collection of completed sketch books. He took down each one, gave them a cursory swipe with a dust rag then peeked between the haggard covers. Hundreds of sketches of himself, thousands of dick doodles. Sweet sketches of Gus, several of Lindsey and the guys. He could almost hear the scratch of the charcoal gliding across the pages. Noting the dates on the corners of the pages and on the covers of the books, he placed them back on the shelf in order.

With his already pristine loft sparkling clean, he decided to do some work at his computer. He sat at his desk to boot up.

He smiled as his email sprang to life with dozens of messages from him. Some happy, some forlorn, some just rambles of the day's events. He read each one, answering some with a word or two; replying to others with long words of wisdom when warranted. Sending, then saving the lot in his designated ‘Sunshine file.' Months of emails overloading his computer's memory. Determined not to delete them until he came home for good. Little pieces of sunshine in his dark Pittsburgh loft.

‘Get a grip, Kinney. You don't need this. He's having a hell of a time. Let him go. Find someone else to fuck with.'

His hand hovered on the mouse.

Right click-delete. That's all it takes to free up the memory. Right click-delete.

He removed his hand from the mouse. The Sunshine file remains.

The ringing of his cell phone breaks the silence.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Brian."

"Hiya, Sunshine."

"How was Babylon the other night? See anyone good?"

"One or two. You? Plow any hot tanned L.A. asses?"

"One or two. You have time to talk? Don't want to disrupt your routine."

"I think I can fit you in. So tell me, how's the weather? Oh, and Justin, happy Valentine's Day."