“What do you do when the ache is but obvious? What do you do when the entire fabric of the life you have created carefully over the years lies today sprawled around you, like a fragile empire in your mind? What is the measure of pain when another reality is within a short arm’s reach, yet you are not to be allowed to grasp your fingers around it? That remains a dream instead. How to you reconcile to a reality turning into a dream instead of the other obvious way around? When it accumulates as dust, do you let the rain wash it away down the ravines?”
That glorious, heavenly-smelling rain.
“You shield your eyes and mask your words with the delicate, thinning veil that you had woven on similar evenings and called it your life. When it rains like it does tonight, when there is no more dust to wash away, when the wind blows the veil from your face, what will you do?” He asked her.
In answer, it rained.
The storm that raged would pass. For now, it rained.
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