The Window

i reach to close the window,
you stretch to put my hand aside,
i say - it’s getting chilly out there…
you say - it’s warm enough inside.

we find ourselves in disagreement 
and lose eachother in a fight,
then for a glimpse i catch you wondering 
“what’s left from searching for the right?”

and as you watch me sort my turmoil 
you get me all drained out of sound;
“is it the weather that’s too rough or 
am i the one who’s being loud?”

and as we stand across each-other,
in spite of all that has been told,
i step to close the gap between us 
and say - it’s not even that cold.