The other day... isn’t that how tales begin?
The day was hot, and the sweat from my forehead, as I stared at it in the mirror, traversed down to my nose before falling off.
Inside the home, there was no circulation, the temperature and climate felt still and tightening the bond between my clothes and I, more than it probably should.
There was a stillness that recovered from early morning rain and brought about the weather of dark clouds, bigger and more elegant than most skyscrapers, that loomed toward the house.
Thunder was mere ambience as the rain began to pour, and heavier it got to the point where one could barely see.
There were two thing running through my mind; one, that if I had a lake and Ryan Gosling, then this would make for the perfect re-enactment of The Notebook, and two; I could not take my eyes off it, there is, after all, something enchanting about rain and mesmerising when it becomes too powerful.
The rain was so heavy that in itself, it had tones, some parts were whiter and others grey, it was a patchwork of rain unfamiliar to the grain swallowed up in water and sliding gravel.
Seems to me that the monsoonal weather came to Victoria- the place to be.
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