Verses to the Rain

Dear diary,

It's raining outside, hark! the aeolian carolings. It makes my skin crave rainbow skies, carved out of the blues, like one of the memories; and here and there on the dark road pitch. A nostalgic petrichor incensing the evaporating eve with the monsoon essence, of one at the depths of my heart. Over yonder, I see, the rain fed rosary with all pearly roses, mimicking the substance of love within my heart walls. Of crystal dew sleeping on the black electric wires hanging, falling like one falls in a dream, a semblance to the most enchanted reveries, to a suppressed heartbeat.

It yet rains, a veneered darkness falling, makes me wishful for day blindness. I see faces of mine only in the mirrors. The threads of my soul find it difficult to entangle with most others, there are hardly some it finds homeliness in. I hardly ever seeked an existence that comes with no purpose, I don't deny my purpose is non coherent with the mainstream, more like a wallflower uncherished, uncaressed. Yet does it make me untouchable? I want to live here not because I have a right to, but because I have a need to, because I'm needed. O' sometimes I linger with thoughts like these. But I believe soulmates exist, someone who is as white incandescent as me, whose soul untouched as the first drop of rain, as mine; the one I'm entangled to. I love this feeling as the rain forever reminds me of him, making me slowly forget myself. A song offering itself to the soul, from his soul to mine; verses in a language we're both so fluent in. Cobblestones on the roads at the lakeside; let me throw one into the water, turn it electric; the echoes of his voice long heard, hitting deep into my surface like this.

Some days like these, I feel him as the descending rain, somewhat from cloudbursts, seeping incessantly into my soil, drenching my soul in the monsoon of longing, an acute one. The more I have of it, the more unquenched my thirst.

With love,

Em