Pulse Of Loneliness

The moments in life, when I’m sincere, are few. By some strange coincidence, the vast majority of them happens when it rains. I don’t know what the sky has to do with my thoughts. During the rains, I shut up. And if I feel the need to say anything, anything, I mean it with the grace of dream runners.


I know for sure where I’m going after the rain. More than I’d even know if there was no rain. I feel like life is a must of freedom. I’m looking for light in puddles, in mud. I’m digging the wet ground because I know the light’s hiding there, too. Sometimes just there. Other times, never.


Could we leave any serious discussion for the next rain? Let’s go out into it laughing like two pieces of anything waiting to be squeezed out of the universe, pressed together. Inseparable. Let’s warm up and depend on each other for that. Let’s not say anything. Any word would cover the sound of heartbeat editors. Rain brings you to my heart in all your forms. By the time I reached my condition today, you were a dream. Then there was light. You accompanied my horizon. I’ve been waiting for it to rain more and more, before sunset so that you could stay in this memory forever. You were in the desert. And every miraculous oasis stayed there.


A sunset just after the rain. Lacking any soundtrack. Just a purple amalgam of the wishes of the day. My interior is a vacuum in which I put, one at a time, all your colours. At the end of the day, I embrace purple and start thinking about you again. I’ll wait. To me, sometimes. Other times, never. It was raining when I told you I loved you.


It was raining when I wanted to say it. The first real talk with my mom happened in weather like this. That’s why I never listen to anything the followers of “sunny” say. I order things in their unique way, in a lot of ways. Unique. Life is a sum of rain and downtime. It’s all a result of everything. Just like, after any storm, a glass left outside will only show you its full side.


After sunset, all that night goes through my heart like a train with broken windows. Full silence. A metronome that measures the pulse of non-existence. Out of the blue, a heart-mate mimics the cadences of rain. Tangible. Almost. It makes me feel like it’s always raining. I’m honest. I crouch next to her sound.


The best feeling is when you don’t have to say anything. You just have to listen to make yourself feel fulfilled. Raining. Or did you fall in love? You don’t know. But you know their silence is the same. New cadences take the pulse of happiness.

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Pulse Of Loneliness

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