It's raining again.
It's been raining an awful lot lately and even when the sun is out it feels damp, dull, lackluster.
The earth smells musty,
The smell of freshly washed clothes merges into the smell of Earth within minutes.
They leaves are greener, but trees stand uprooted.
I'm cooped up inside.
And the floor of the house rarely gets dry;
If I become cold enough,
I can see water on my skin.
And so I look at the walls, the walls are interesting.
They take on character in the rains.
Water flows through them and tears them apart,
Into patterns ever-changing.
Some days these patterns look like mere blobs,
Indecipherable in their being.
Some days they look like beheaded creatures.
Some days they look like all that's been lost,
So much,
So much,
That you have to look aside.
Today they look like curious nothingness,
They look like something you're trying to recollect but won't budge into your consciousness from the periphery.
Interesting these walls.
I've seen them be unremarkable in other seasons.
There's a nook in my room,
Between my wooden cupboard and the wall,
Where I store collectibles, small things like bags and clothes seldom used.
The other day I sought them out and there was fungus on them, growing rapidly like a tumor.
I blow dried them,
Aired them out,
Warmed them,
Cleaned them,
But it wouldn't budge !
It took them on and made them it's own.
And now I've got to let them go.
Wistfully, I wish for the sunrise.
For can one go beyond the forces of nature?
Oh ! Wait,
It just started raining again,
In a few hours it'll be time to seek out the walls..
