She is at the edge of her seat, almost on her toes, her nose touches the cold window leaving warm, melting dots on the frosted pane. She isn’t used to these chilly summers. She doesn’t understand how a day can look so warm and yet be so cold; she doesn’t understand that in people either. The clock behind her ticks along – seconds, minutes and hours, all adding up. She remains perched on her chair, patient in the knowledge that one day someone will draw open their curtains, and give her a glimpse of their life.