It has been almost exactly a year, down to the first rainy day of the season, that I last wrote. Life has been tumultuous, to say the least. But the rains brought my digital pen back to me, one day, sitting on a train, in the form of a digital cursor. Here’s a little something I wrote.
We are as the rain
Born of thunderous celebration
Breaking into a million pieces
Falling away, falling toward,
Ever rejoining and breaking apart
Into rivulets that run and run and run
Into fat droplets, pregnant with promise
That get absorbed into another form
Into moisture so slight, we get windswept away forever
And the few, the chosen few,
Carried up and up and up
To the place where they once belonged.