A downpour

It isn’t a mistake that a downpour hits my window tonight, that the raindrops slide carefully through the glass. It isn’t a mistake that the night’s darkest than it seems, that the clouds cover the sky and the fog accumulates in front of the mountains. It isn’t a mistake that the atmosphere is silent and sleepy. It isn’t a mistake that lonely people come and go without saying a word, they are all so focused in their lives.

It isn’t a mistake that I grabbed a pen and started doodling in a piece of paper, everything while I saw the downpour hit my window. It isn’t a mistake that raindrops now form a different melody and that the lights of the distant city glows through the heavy fog. It isn’t a mistake that my thoughts just belong to the doodles on the paper, to yesterday’s memories, to deep eyes, to kind promises. It isn’t a mistake that I’m now focused on my own life without saying a word, all in my head, all in my words.

It isn’t a mistake that I’m awake watching the thick darkness fall over my bedroom, washing my thoughts away. It isn’t a mistake it’s hard to close my eyes.

It isn’t a mistake that I’m staring out my window. The fog is accumulating in front of the windows despite the sparkling city behind. And I can’t sleep.

Because a downpour is hitting the glass of my window.

 

Mistake

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