Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head

Rain. tak tak tak… I used to listen to the raindrops falling from the sky, late at night, while lying in my bed alone. The individual drops would tap against my windows, etching out their short-lived existence in a beautiful brilliance only nature could muster. in between the silent drone of languid dreaming and wakefulness, I would catch a glimpse of their paths as they slid through trails of reason and fantasy.

So comfortable they were, knowing that their lives were meant for something greater. They were assuredly valued beyond measure, with fairly simple choices that lay before them–at least that’s what we’d like to think. But there is always that stubborn one. The one which continues its search for the meaning behind its existence, zigging and zagging across the pane, determined to create its own footprints in an already chaotic land.

Lying in my bed alone, frozen by the thought that with so many possibilities, it might never find what it was looking for, even if it knew where to start. Either that, or it would simply splash out–dying and melding back into the pool, never knowing what its true purpose was.

tak tak tak…I try not to listen anymore.