When You Had Been The Silver Lining . . .

Summer. Less than a week left for summer to officially step over the threshold in my part of the world, welcomed by some, resisted by most. And I must admit that it has truly announced itself quite well, sending heat and humidity waves to ensure that everyone is made aware of its impending arrival. That is when the sky opened up, letting all its misery fall as tears, leaving a chilly, sodden veil over the softened earth below.

I do not like the rain. The wind, however, is beautiful. And the clouds? Well, I would not have had anything against them if they did not drag into my mind the very lines from that one particular song. A song that you had so adorably sung to me, perhaps only to irritate me in good humor at that time. It was one cloudy afternoon, very much like this one, when your voice had carried itself through the murky, despairing atmosphere and calmed me down as it happened to be more divine than the wind which I found ever so reviving. I would laugh and curse you all too jokingly, being playfully annoyed while you stubbornly sang to me the song of the clouds.

To admit with utmost shame, I somewhat lack a taste for music of my own native language. Yet, the melody you hummed had triggered some very sincere euphoria within me and made me fall in love with those lines of the chorus that still ring in my ears with the same amplitude even to this day. They were questions, and they had been playfully directed towards me. At that time, however, I did not consider it necessary to answer them, for they were questions to be asked during the time of one's absence. So, the words held little literal significance back then, though I had always loved to hear the melody.

However, as I sit reminiscing today, I find this gray, soaking day to be the most appropriate time to answer the questions posed in those sublime lines of the breathtaking chorus.
... Yes, I still do lose myself absentmindedly in the land of the clouds.
... Yes, I still write pages of poetry, with nothing but you on my mind.
... And when I get caught up in the rain as the skies drizzle their melancholy all over me? Yes, my subconscious still senses your presence in every droplet even today.

Then what is it that has changed, you ask? What difference has been made when I still remain rooted precisely where you said farewell?

As the gray afternoon fades to a grayer dusk, the clouds wear the same gossamer robes of ashened purple and gloom. And burdened with the sorrowful grace of these robes, the clouds dwindle across the sky, floating ponderously above the darkened earth beneath. Though these clouds look no different from the ones that drifted on the afternoon when you sang to me that memorable tune, these are not the same cotton-like puffs that passed us by a year ago. Time. That is what made all the difference.