First Rain.

written 25/2/09

It's raining.
If it's not the first time this year, it's the first that I at least have noticed.
We're poised ever so gently on the cusp of autumn, where it'll only get more inclement as the days pass,
and I'm hit with the nostalgia that comes with the feeling and smell of the cold, moisture filled air.
It's amazing how by catching a brief scent, or being consumed by a feeling for just a second can remind
you of so much. Like how that person who just rushed past wore a cologne that smelt like an old romantic
interest, or how a grey sky makes you just want to lie on the floor and stare out the window into the fog,
or how a chilly breeze recalls early morning work commutes, wearing gloves and going on shuffled-playlist
adventures.

My day at work is being constantly interjected with images and emotions of the past winter, so much so
that I can't concentrate on much but my wandering memory. It's like all these little snippets are being put on fast
forward in my concious, like flicking through one of those old plastic picture viewing contraptions. Click click click.
They're changing and repeating, some kind of silly broken tape player with no purpose. And yet I feel different;
I'm zooming in and focusing.

I just don't know where I want to be. Why do I feel so much affinity with this past? Why do I want to
torture myself with these thoughts of a life that is clearly not mine anymore? I think I am hell bent on
destroying my happiness, or just creating drama. I'm happy now, right? I'm safe and sound in my little box and it's
just so damn comfortable. But I ache for more. Danger, passion, lust, adventure, spontaneity, deep thought.
I want someone to come along and sweep me off my feet, and to escape with me to wet dark streets in search
of nothing and everything. Why does it dissapear when you grow? Why is this Utopia only momentary, and then
becomes lost to duty and complacency?

But then you email me with your words that I'd missed, and the spark flickers again.
It's a smouldering ember for the moment, but who knows, with a little shake it may become a fire again. It's so fragile.

Please don't confuse this for a lack of love. I have plenty. But love needs to coexist with so, so much more.
I'm still learning how it all works. And still manifesting my own definitions in return.

It continues to rain.
And it's perfect.