desire

I always thought of rain as tears crawling down from the sky, creating a crestfallen atmosphere. But forgot about how I relished feeling each raindrop against my body as a kid. To dance and jump carefreely; splashing serendipities. Convincing my mother to let me stay for five more minutes and that I won't catch a cold. Making paper boats and let them sail for some time before they drench and sink. Now I realize how beautiful rain is! How it pours life into beings on earth, helping them perceive what it feels like to be alive. On days, when vulnerable, the sound of rain was my lullaby and helped me fall asleep. It filled the vicious voids with essence.    “rain falls and unfurls hope, joy, peace and so much more.” Tap-   rain, a poem  

"you will feel better than this, maybe not yet but you will. you just keep living,  until you feel alive again." breathe new life in the dying flowers of your soul It's seven in the morning you get up and brush your teeth. You try to gargle the unknown thoughts and spit them all out.  Post bath you require a small dose of caffeine, so use cold filtered water and add ground coffee. Then boil water, and wait;  don't hallucinate, otherwise all of the water will vanish to steam. Y ou drink your coffee and y ou go to work with a surge of anxiety.  Don't forget to take some deep breaths with you.  You finished your work. It was not a bad day.  After work you go for therapy and come home after; then cry for a bit. You write somethings down on a piece of paper and then tear it into chits.  You are inhaling deeply, trying to fall asleep but you are unable to so you take some sedatives prescribed.  Your eyes are closed, you are waiting for the anxious ...

  The thought of opening a moon museum consumes my mind. The walls, curtained with constellations which caress the scarred phases of my moon; in an atmosphere absorbed in abstractness. The ceiling is charismatically celestial and charms the crystal floor. Visitors enter barefoot; delicately, to adore the spheres selflessly. It's open twenty four seven for all souls to catch a serene sight of the grey globes. Some come when they're lone, some when they feel lost, some come scrounging for stillness and some come to stare at art. *soon reality silences this thought of hers and she continues to look at the moon from the window near her bed*