The small droplets of water pounded the uncanny rhythm on the tin windowsill. I see a pattern made out of water on my window. The drops race each other on the window pane. I sit in the warmth and observe the wet world from the safety of my dry room.
I imagine that the world is a big aquarium, watered by natural monsoons.
The people are fishes of various kinds, all swimming, aiming for the same purpose.
To reach the absolute.
To touch the perfection.
To reach the everlasting truth.
It’s all clear to me, like the water that falls from the azure sky.