2004-12-17

When the Rains Came

When the rains come, I'd like to sit silently behind (hidden quietly) behind the curtains of a cafe.

The oily, red&white checkered tablecloth--greasy, old, muddy-gray with time--is that companion on a silent night. The candle that sits in the middle--flickering its flame. Fingernails tap the gray, and the tip of the index finger sticks.

Last summer we sat. You, in a wool trenchcoat. The four seasons of life pass by, and we change with them.

When I was smaller and wore my small, tailored coats with fancy buttons and little bonnet hats--stepping into puddles.

And where is Libet?

Stepping atop the gray streets under the frowning, hungry skies. When it was about to rain. I had on gloves, with my little hands reaching up to touch the infinite field above me.

The world seems so big and it swallows you up. Then, we age...and my small tailored coats, gloves, and bonnets don't fit me anymore.

When I was a child, things seemed different. The red, silk ribbon that ties around our hearts suddenly comes loose. With it, we lose part of who we are, essentially.

We should search for the essential.

aeka at 8:29 a.m.