One day I will own a house with a balcony.
I love sitting outside at night, just to listen to the sounds of solitude, especially when it rains.
Sometimes the dramatic interference of rushing raindrops reminds me of the uncinematic theatre of thoughts in my own head.
But the inexplicable darkness decorating our galaxy also reminds me that He who suspends the stars in zero gravity numbered my hair.
The One who orders the course of each planet, instructing the sun to give us day and the moon to cover us with the shade of night knows the way that I take.
See, I love rain. It just comes with renewal.
Just listening to the sounds of rebirth reverberating in the air as raindrops rhythmically kiss the dry-open soil and overheating rooftops gives me life; I listen in awe, almost as if nature is imitating the state of my soul.
I have long days my friends. Don’t we all?!
But the aroma of new life saturating rainy nights reminds me that energy never leaves the earth, it just changes form.
The tangible energy we see, called rain, was once intangible vapour offered up by the earth to the atmosphere. And so, the energy we give matters more than the one we want to receive because everything comes back thunderously shaken together and pouring over.
Even though every answer begins with a question, I swear I become a madman when it rains. I sometimes ask myself questions even philosophers would consider obvious insanity.
What if everything is the same just in a different form?
What if the atmospheric layer is a womb and all that we get is determined by what we put into it?
Think about this my friend, life stops when the womb is interrupted.
But what happens when the energy we give is right but the womb is…
I get lost in this pocket of peace God perfectly crafted to mirror the seasons in my life.
So, one day in my balcony, I will write about how rain is the defined expression of my freedom. But until that day, I will write about how peace followed me when I found my place a solitude.
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