the window pane

she took the rag from it's hook  and walked towards the window she began to clean, the rag against the glass in circling motion. her hand slowed down and came to a stop. she stared at the window not through it as she often does,  but at it. there she saw imprints of finger tips, were they hers she wondered or his. she dropped the rag and opened up her hand and slowly brought it to the glass,  still warm from the afternoon sun she pressed her hand against it. they were not hers, at least she did not think so. she touched every tip with her own, lingered over them she swore it was like he was here but he was not, long ago gone. she picked up her rag once again but as she reached for the window she knew that she could not erase those just yet.   even  if they were hers both reminded her of the us that once existed. she walked away putting the rag back on the hook, turned her head once more towards the window the memories flooded in just like the sunlight had done moments before.