Stormy Days

 

Rain drops roll down the window glass,
rain drops patter on the window panes.
Rain drops pound on the roof above,
rain drops wash off the muddy pathways.

The clouds rumble and growl, the rain is angry and wrath some. Its cold and mean out there and in reality no different to the predicament inside. On the other side of the window glass, water drops of another kind roll down my cheek. It is the surface of the bubbling anger and wrath, coldness and meanness within, but in a cosy setting. Dry ground, soft chairs and warm light are set behind me, but I prefer to watch the rain pound the earth mercilessly. Is there a satisfaction in it? Yes, I can relate to the anger of the rain and the growl behind the clouds. How they decide to come pouring all at once, at first gradually, then suddenly building up.

 
The shadows of the trees bowing to the anger of the rain, the shadows of the people struggling in the fleeting sheets of torrrent, all bent, at the mercy of water. Something so harmless yet so powerful. Like emotions, seemingly simple yet powerful, like a slight change in heart that causes such an impact to the outlook of life. In this dark picture I see mine own reflection, where my tears blend in with the rain drops outside, is there no difference. The skies fighting off emotions of their own, and that pull of heartstrings in my chest. Our worries unbeknownst to the rest of humanity, eats through till its too heavy to carry.

 
Every lonely moment spent finds my mind slipping into that ideal reality, unconscious to me I dwell more in that ideal than I do in this dimension of life. Is it too much to ask for? Is it too much to ask for emotional return, is it too much to ask for a touch of fingertips, foreheads and then lips. An act so universal, so very common, something that costs nothing but the flutter of hearts and raised blood pressure. Smiles linger on mine when I slip into this reverie, until the sharp slap of reality brings me back to the present. Smile vanishes with the sigh that’s more powerful.

How much longer? I ask myself.

How much longer till I’m alone once again and the tears would flow for another rainy day?

 

 

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