She was always looking outside.
Rainy streets of puddle-slicked pavements, sun-dappled forests swaying by the fields, the swift flight of robins in the gray spring morning…she watched them all.

The windows gave her a settling contentment.
Pulling up blinds, sweeping away curtains- the view would be clear, just for her. If it was only a small alcove of light from a blue sky, she’d still be happy to gaze from it.

The girl thirsted for the sight of outside.
She wouldn’t go out herself, only look out. It said something about her persona- how her ambition had limits, how she was content to gaze at stars, not reach for them.

It didn’t mean she never wanted to, though.
She would dream. Daydream, for better terms. The fleeting imagery of soft wings upon whistling treetops, of ever-winding woods trails of golden leaves, of flowers blooming across a severed branch…they always left her wistful and longing, for more.

And so she’d continue looking outside.