When the rain appears, the world is lost in a misty glaze. We vanish within the fog, souls floating in the buoyant landscapes. We breathe in the stories from the past, and we lost a bit of ourselves in the droplets. Someone once said that there are stories hidden in every drop of the rain. So, his soul too attaches to the rain

In a room where sheets wore the ink of his thoughts. In a land that is sprinkled with memories of him. In a world that breathes the essence of all that is him. In a sky that summons the very words by him. In his words where he lost the pieces of him.

And now he vanishes in the rain. The clouds gather at the edge of oceans.

They grow, curdling together, crashing like the waves beneath them. They gather everlasting stories, mingling one after the other. Then they fly. And all those souls that the rain collects; they fly too…

Maybe he still has pen in hand, jotting the melodies that entrance his heart, that capture his mind. Those melodies that bud from the light of his soul, like flowers. Colourful flowers (and pearl aqua green is the most colourful of all.) The rain transforms into a garden full of flowers. Flowers that are his words. Colours of his soul. Dear to his heart. Petals that represent the love that everlasts. Eternity.

    Eternity is not a blank canvas, or an endless tunnel. It spans to the depths of the world, out into the perpetual ends of