Elbow Room

The curtains over the windows block the rain falling outside from view. But I can hear it crash on the winding rocky garden path outside. A thousands jabs on my heart. The smell is intoxicating. Ive always wanted to make a perfume out of it. But thats nothing new. Many love rain, many love that very earthy wet fragrance that oozes like a genie from a bottle, awakening all desires. It isn't for the first time that rain has fell on someone's dry thoughts as they do on mine this moment—rinsing them alive and breathing again, throbbing on the temples. Not for the first time has the sound of thunder sent blood shooting down someone's veins as it does in mine tonight, as pipes and sewers are unclogged in a rainy gush. It isn't for the first time that a memory has opened its arms to lament the romance in the air. Nor am I the first one to wipe a tear escaping through the corner of my eye as i sit facing only the sound of rain.

Its not an easy tear, one following the other, like the ceaseless rain outside. Its a hard-earned tear like a drop from a dry tube well on famished earth. And im grateful for it. Even though a torrent would be so much more merciful than this suffocating starvation. I stare at the curtains, imagining the lush greenery dancing, shivering in the wet wind. Sheena is in the bathroom, talking to Bhuvan. Its Valentine's. I wished id have given them some privacy but its 1.30 in the night, and i cant leave the room. Its isnt Valentine's Day thats making me cry. The rain is. But for the rain, it would probably have been just another practical day. But for the rain...