Of words unspoken...

I believe it all started with a single droplet freefalling from the sky. Then it multiplied and the sound came before the others as I lay down in bed, reading as always. An enchanting cascade of noise barging into our ears either abated or multiplied by the roofs, or in my case lack thereof, building the pressure until the inevitable release. Then came the smell that, same as the sound, came from out of nowhere - putrid as the elders say but still pleasant change from the seemingly redundant one from the one emanated by the scorching heat of the sun or the gentle one by the moon. And though causing sickness I have come to love the smell of slight singeing until such time it abates to only a tinge of its former glory. That was always the way with me. I want things I shouldn’t. Last came the sight of everything I have known engulfed by the inevitable liquid falling harshly from the darkness that is the sky. Suddenly, mud puddles and boats made out of paper by innocent hands were trending. Now I must join two of my favourite things. Before the rain lays off its seemingly everlasting drumming against the bare earth, until the calm smell of the night turns to the scorching hot day, until the sight of a girl frolicking at her terrace is no more.