I have unintentionally become a peeping tom. I must note it comes from a  goodhearted place.

My balcony overlooks a courtyard. And across it, I can see into my neighbors’ windows. The young, punkass kids who smoke too much and play their music too loud. The somber yuppie who stores his untouched sportsgear in giant tupperware tubs on his ledge. But my favorite, though, are the youngish Indian couple with the two daughters. Aside from their Papillon who pees on their sliding glass door, they have a lovely home. From my best guess, the daughters are somewhere in neighborhood of 7 and 10. Tonight, they’re preparing for some sort of event. (Possibly a wedding, although I’m not quite certain.) The father is teaching them a dance I do not know. Sporadically they erupt into fits of laughter as the girls spiritedly mock their father’s dancing technique. It makes my heart ache in a wonderful way. But it also makes me wonder whether I’ll ever be blessed with that sort of bond and joy of my own.