Every second, choices are made.
Soft pebbles of rain tapping on my balcony like a gentle, yet persistent inquisition.
Songs softly playing in the distance, their melodies reduced to an even hum, blurring together in a dream-like haze.
Outside the storm appears somewhat enervated, with light grey clouds looming over the autumn sky, breaking up as each hour passes.
The people express their bemusement with a certain pressing concern, yet privately wish for the weather to linger a little longer.
They also wonder about the future–all of the time. They do not wish to stay present with nature, but never considered that verity anyway.
Until, of course, their future washes away with the rain, down the iron grates without another confirmation.
Nothing is left except for the memory– their past, and the present.
YOU ARE READING
Silverfish
PoetryA compilation of written thoughts, poems, and short stories composed by myself
