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It’s raining tonight, it has been raining every day of this week. I’ve written a few poems about the charming sound of drops falling on the windows, but … in reality, from where I stand, I could barely hear any sound because of the metal blinds my windows and doors have. I can leave them open and listen to the rain coming and going, at times whispering, but on the next day the first thing that I see is the dirt left on the glass and the idea of rain and charm together, vanishes within seconds.

I used to feel uncomfortable with rain. For years I had this icon of a departing boat and big, salty monsters eating up the waving hands, while the rain takes even the moment of grief away, not letting any tear to the surface. And then, one happy moment of another rainy day seems enough to make you forget about the fears that come with the rain.

It’s strange how poets find beauty in things which at a second glance are not that beautiful. Like the love shower scenes in movies, huge passion behind the steamed glass! You can’t really see the actual scene, but the running hot water and the silhouettes make you think: ” Wow, how great is that!” And when you get one of your own shower scenes, you find out pretty fast that the steam, the feverish emotions are only a fiction, because when he/ she pushes you to the wall, the tiles bite you with cold, turning every kiss into an awkward moment.

Sometimes even staring at the moon is a kind of a paradox, especially when you have a big lemon tree on the way, like me … I wonder what’s the view like from your balcony? Do you live high above the ground? Is it noisy when the wind is around? Do you feel the sun heat even more, do you see the stars better? Will I ever be able to see the skies over there standing next to you? The skies here look sad tonight. I don’t know why I started this rant!?! Maybe it’s because of the rain, maybe because you are faraway!?!

If it was a week ago, I’d probably be spilling rage and sorrow for the burned streets of Athens and I’d be cursing the day I came here. If it was a hot summer night, then I’d sure write you a poem, sweet words to make you smile while you gaze at the stars and think of what taste the coffee will have on the next morning. But it’s tonight and it rains, and I wish I could share the rain with you, but we are just strangers that once found a common musing, and this is just a random page of a forgotten book that no one will ever read, and the only good part is that as a stranger you can never leave me, because you were never here to begin with…

©2013, B. T., All rights reserved