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The Sound of Thunder and Rain

I wake up to the sound of thunder and rain. The rain splashes the roof with an effervescent fury and the thunder loudly announces the lightning that preceded it. I groggily look at the timepiece to check the time, 6 in the morning. It is not light outside and yet is not completely dark. The outside, as perceived through my windows appears like a satin sheet draped over the world. A dull grayish tinge appears in the atmosphere just like the gray that exists in the hearts of all those who sleep at this early hour. There are those, countless faces who are probably in the nascent moments of their day, untouched by the luxuries of a holiday, they rise to carry forth a day just like any other. And then there are those, for whom this day is a blessing. A day in which they can catch up on nights spent in vagrancy; A day that they can dedicate towards the craft of immobility. And then there are people like me, who neither are fraught by worldly duties nor can afford the luxuries of nonchalance.
The mind wishes to embark on a carefree journey, sample moments of a recaptured past, a thought akin to a faint misty image like one gazed from a rain soaked glass window. A past with few worries, and fewer duties; one where the dawn of a day is announced by the crowing of the hen and the scent of wet sand, A day where the waves of the sea thrash against the shores in a routine that speaks of comfort. A world so perfect, that it does not exist in the physical world.
The mind does not function in its typical exuberance at such an hour, the clock ticks silently unlike the loud and jarring ticks of ancient timepieces. I lay for moments uncounted, caught in thoughts that have neither form nor function. As the sound of thunder and rain continue to pound life as I know it, I momentarily wish to be outside getting drenched in the storm and for once reclaiming a dream that was never born.

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