I spent hours in the rain, feeling the water slide off my skin, like the thoughts of you that I wished would  do the same. Memories of you cling to me like the sweat on my summer skin. So I stood in the rain, eyes  closed, face turned up to the sky. Streams of crystal water slid down my face, mingling with tears, dropping  from the tips of my beard. Somewhere in the distance, life went on. Toads were rejoicing, and frogs were  mating. None of my emptiness mattered to the world. Everything was alright. Somewhere beyond my limit of  vision, a rainbow peeked blushingly out from behind the clouds, taking its first look at a wet world, watched loving by his father, the sun. I think I heard it’s mirthful squeal of excitement. I wonder if I might ever find this world as wonderful as the rainbow did. Birds chirrup loudly, and I’m sure I hear their songs. For once, the cars were quiet and human life came to a stop. No one was shouting, no one was yelling. No one was  fighting or glaring in dislike. No one cared about anything but keeping themselves dry.

When I opened my eyes, I saw blurry hues of green and blue, speckled with the dull brown of the mud. It took a while to wipe the water and the tears from my eyes, and a little longer to wipe my glasses. But in that one moment when I put them on, I felt my breath being taken away. Here I was, in solitude, with no sounds to hear, but the melodies of nature and the voices in my own head and heart. For a few minutes, the voices were silent. I was absorbed, I was but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and while I stood surrounded by the  truth itself, it reached out to me. I am but a mere thread in the fabric of life, and life is eternal. I am eternal. Everything I do, everything I touch, everyone I meet is a part of me, and I am a part of them. We are all different, and yet we are one, and we are all eternal. There I stood, finally finding the peace that eluded me for days.

The rain abated finally, and the clouds parted lovingly for the sun to smile at me. I smiled back at it, my  first smile in days…since you’ve been gone. I pick a fallen flower; so gently it lay on the soaked ground that it reminded me of you, lying gently and peacefully under the surface of the earth. But today, for the  first time since you went away, I am at peace. I lay the flower gently back on the ground where it belongs,  for in the end, everything must return to where it came from…even you.

I’ve been 21 for a little over an hour now. The twentieth day of May lies generally in the heart of Indian Summer, the kind of summer that is capable of taking life away.

I’ve been writing for years now, and I’ve had many sources of inspiration. My misfortune has been that most of the time, that source of inspiration comes not from within me or my world. It comes from the world’s perception of me. I must write better. I must impress others. I must be the best (or at least among the best). There was a point of time once, I think, when I would write because I wanted to write to please myself. Now I write to show others… when did things change?

I’ve been pondering about my writing, and my writing reflects on myself. Have I ever lived or done things to please myself rather than please others? When did I stop? Why? … who am I? Myself, or an amalgamation of the ideas others have of me?

Far away, I hear thunder. The nineteenth day of May, 2008 has been extremely hot. But the night rebels. The night rebels in tune with the rebellion rising in my heart. I have to find myself. The wind picks up speed, coming in cold and heavy from the open window diagonally across me. It brings the sound of thunder… in the heart of summer, it brings the smell of rain.

The sky can’t seem to decide whether it’s night or day. It lingers in a blue-grey haze, being neither azure day, nor inky night… and yet, a bit of both. The tip of my pen dances joyously over the page, words springing forth mirthfully. My thoughts condense calmly, crystal clear in a mind at peace. Yet my eyes can barely see these little glyphs of love come together in the darkness…

Is this how we live life? In the shadows, we write our own lives. Yet we barely see what we’ve written until we’re done and have reached a place of light…

Friends. Strangers. People I don’t know, people I love. Through silence, I hear you speak, words arranged like flowers in a garden. My breath gets taken away by the beauty. Every thought you plant blossoms in my head, giving rise to emotions and feelings that come all that once, making me confused. All at once, I am honoured, delighted, happy beyond belief and then frustrated beyond anger. I want to be here in your garden, and yet I seek to run away. Behind a tiny flower plant of my own, I hide myself. There’s nothing to show, but there’s so much to say. Now, by myself, I speak so no one hears.

It’s so confusing. I sit here in front of the PC, fingers on oily keys on a dirty black keyboard. I want to write, but I have nothing to write about. I want to think, but I don’t know what I’m thinking. I wish I could tell you how beautiful the night is, but I haven’t even looked out my window. A tempting cool breeze softly blows in through the open window diagonally across me, partially blocked by the heavy brown curtains. This is annoying. I’ve been thinking of a couple of lines… I can see them clearly written, beautiful and perfect, but the start and middle of the poem/prose is a blank white page.

I could write about how I’m still alone, and how sad it is that Love sometimes cannot be found even when you search for it. I could write about how I’ve grown even more self-reliant these last few days, and come to the realization that no matter how well someone knows me and how close they are to me, no one understands me as well as I do. The Lone Wolf once again.

I could paint yet another picture of me, alone under my beloved night sky. She reads my thoughts, and I lose myself in her countless, twinkling stars. Not a word needs to be spoken, and I’m free to think about everything… all the friends I’ve made, all the love I thought I’d found, all the sins I’ve committed, everything that shackles me, and everything that sets me free. Alone, as usual, under starry black sky, no one in my thoughts, and I in no one else’s. Come the first rays of dawn, I become the wind and blow away…