:: raindrops keep falling on my head ::
small amounts of water divide into millions of hair-thin rays the subtle light coming from the rounded glass on the front side of that black beauty outside of my window. my eyes embrace such beauty with a painful contraction, millions of green and yellow colored muscles enter into motion diverting my attention from the image portrayed, making me conscious of the tender torture that brightness inflicts upon the frail capsules that keep me from the outside. in the mean time i can only suppose that the hypnotic effect of the simple happenings has somewhat of a universal value, that all things remain the same while suspended in the infinite hollowness of time-spatial structure. they crawl against the glass in a manner that seems impossible to describe properly, they slide leaving a remanent of the innumerable causes of pain, leaving the meaningful questions that are to be left unanswered. and yet they pass, slowly, gracefully, inevitably, the go past myself, past my reach, past my control. they gather upon the edge and wait carefully for the precise moment in which they are destined to throw light in the direction of my retinas once more. they tremble and shake slightly, probably because of the chill on the other side, probably because of the fear that cannot be refused when one is at the brink of eternity, at arms-length of blissful disappearance. are we not all small amounts of water? do we not crave to reflect and divide the uncontainable beauty of that which inflicts pain?
i, for one, often think i can only be XYZ, as opposed to H2O. still, that may not matter much, or could it?
coming in through my ears::Spring/Vivaldi