Raindrops create intricate, shifting patterns on my
window...delicate silver streaks that twist and meander, joining other silver
lines for the briefest moment, before finding their own gleaming, downward path
again. I watch, mesmerized, wondering if this is how lives intersect in the
canvas that is life. And then, those memories return...
Maybe someday, when you look at the random patterns the
rain paints on your window, you'll remember too...
The endless, agonized waiting, before a brave smile merged
the course of two lives...the love that wove itself slowly through unending
conversations and interlocked fingers during stolen hours...the fragile hope
that grew stronger and more impatient with each passing day...that blind faith
in forever.
Someday perhaps, you'll wonder too, about that exact
moment when happiness had begun to fray...When the boundless possibilities dwindled to a handful of tokens, waiting to be discarded or destroyed in hurt
and helpless fury...
The diamond raindrops continue to beat down on the
glass...noisily, relentlessly, mercilessly. But the rain will end and the sun
will stream its brilliant, golden rays through the same glass, washed clean of
yesterday's dust and regret. Maybe then, we'll understand, that our dreams were
meant to intertwine, but briefly, and acknowledge, that with its continuous, forward
momentum, life goes on...
Except on some moist, grey days, like today, when the
rain paints patterns of the past on the window.
____________________________________________________________________
And a piece by Alexandre Desplat, The Meadow.
