You cleaned the window. You used a rag, wiping the dirt off line by line, streak by streak. Methodically and precisely. You did not rush. You left nothing behind. Each time the rag pressed against the window, it left a clean, empty trail behind, a long rectangle of nothing for light to squeeze into.
Now, the window is clean. You look out the window. It is square and empty. Light wriggles into it from end to end, filling every empty, bright nook.
You aren’t ready to see what’s beyond the window yet. But you made it clean. You made it a window again, rather than a wall, rather than a gray box that closed you in on every side. You made it a portal. Anything may lay beyond. You are not afraid.