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A Trifle Gray

Clouds. The perpetual blanket over our lives. They drape us in melancholy and embrace us in bitterness. Environmentalists probably have elaborate explanations on why clouds are formed. That information probably lies tucked comfortably in the corners of my mind, but too much effort is requisite to summon it. I am sure it was a bit to do with rain and quenching the thirst of earth through an incessant cycle.
To me however, clouds are a larger force than that. They placate me by announcing their presence in the most subtle manner. They exist, but only in dimness. Yet their presence cannot be forgotten. It’s the kind of existence that reminds me of the days gone by. It reminds me of all the memorable faces seen in the annals of my history. Some comforting, some remembered and a lot forgotten. The blanket of my history is akin to clouds, there is bitterness felt in it, and yet it cannot be overlooked.
As I wake from an impatient night, I peer through the translucent blinds to seek what lies beyond. The bright light straining through the cloudy skies pierces my eyes but is still comforting. I no not like sunlight; I do not like the scorching attendance of warmth on my skin. Sure the warmth is alluring, but the bitter cold has a familiarity that one gets used to. There exists a reassurance in the snow that many do not understand.
The weather most often mirrors the lives that we lead. Days pass on which are fragrant like the newborn grass of spring and nights are spent in tears like the monsoon rain. The winter cold announces the frostiness of our hearts and the absence of color reminds us that we are all one entity and part of something larger than we can comprehend. And clouds? They remind us, that despite the myriad of challenges life throws at us, despite the many success and failures that comes our way, despite the darkness and light in our souls, there exists the gray blanket watching over us. Not quite warm, but still a portrait of the duality that defines our existence.

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