It has been so long. So long since the thunder. I forgot its voice. Its voice as it speaks to me. I wish I knew no words so it could not taunt me so.
Standing in the rain, back turned. This is not the romantic jazz rain. This is the heart-piercing disturbing rain, which haunts you enough to pass by without offering a hand.
The power to create. Forge a masterpiece. Lose yourself in it. In the silence you know yourself. In solitude you doubt yourself. The curtains to your heart are gray. The day is lost in translation. Burn the fabric and chase after the dusk.
