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Summer House



For over an hour, he bore the burden of my grim silence. I, lost as a philosopher paid no heed towards his ice-cold glare, until his perseverance finally gave up.

“Why do you watch the rain like that?” he inquired .

“Because” I smiled, pressing my nose against the window grill.

“Vulnerability is a beautiful thing.”

“Vulnerability?” he asked puzzled.

“Don’t you see it? How the  rain falls so effortlessly, without expecting, a soft landing. Nothing can stop it from pouring down its pain.

The Pain. It’s beautiful !” I confessed.

“It’s just rain,” came his reply, barely audible over the sound of the tremendous downpour.

“I don’t expect you to see the beauty in it,” I sighed heavily, fogging the glass with my breath.

“That’s all I’ll ever be to you- JUST RAIN.”

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