As I sat near him, I looked out his window, past the creamy window sill where his dusty knickknacks stood. A wooden bear from Canada, a coin bank from London, his favorite yin-yang incense holder that still held a sweet-aromatic smell and a row of other random things clustered ‘round. It was only 8 am and his eyes were filled with sleep. Below, I saw the neighborhood wake up and start its day. Some drove off to work, others still lazy in their beds perhaps. The rows of houses stood so calm and still. I focused my attention to his window sill and wished my window had one. I would sit on it for hours and hours with my hot cup of jasmine-green tea or a book. I’d look down at the sun hitting the mighty pine trees and watch the raindrops fall on rainy days. My thoughts raced back to his room as I saw that no sun entered it, and I realized that it would be a cloudy day, yet I was still content, sitting peacefully in his bed. I felt as if sleep crept up on me as well and I slid back into the snug and warm bed. The tempo of his heartbeat was my lullaby as I slowly shut my eyes. The last thing I remember was his gentle kiss upon my lips and the thought that this was my favorite view from my favorite window.