a tourist with no story, lost in this purgatory

I dread twilight showers and the spine-chilling cold that lingers after a rain. The cold air inevitably makes me want to snuggle up to someone, Dear who could afford me a few precious moments when all my infirmities in the world would mean nothing. Someone Who, in all irony- is not around.For what is a downpour but an autumn of a thousand million crystalline reflections falling carelessly thru the open sky, each inconspicuously carrying a vision of the heavens that all men seek but fail to even witness a glimpse?

We are just that silly, aren’t we?

Men, since that fateful day when Icarus got his wings, has envisioned flight to be amongst the angels of heavens; Not realizing that earth is a reflection of heaven as each rain droplet reveals her secret snapshots from the above when they break upon hitting our grounds. Raindrops are but broken mirrors of the gods.

Many times, we do not realize that we already have the best in our possession. So, believing that there is a larger, better world out there- we would set out seeking for something more that could never be found. And be left with an empty hand as we stand alone in reflection of our thousand broken rain by that little dark corner of a cold, pouring early morning in loveless Moscow.

Would you grab my hands and trust in my imperfections?

Perhaps not everything is in black and white. Perhaps these gray skies that herald another downpour would stand sentinel and watch over her heart as the rest of the world falls apart.