As nightfall paints the world, I relish the peace before the storm. A distant dribbling basketball marks the pace to trance and mindfulness in this precious silence. It will all be tainted when the front door opens, and the artificial lights turn on.
The dribbling ball has stopped. There is only the infinite silent chiming in my ears.
The first star has appeared in the last moments of the dimming sky. A bittersweet dull sensation grips my heart. Are these my feelings, or am I channelling the essence of those I watch from the booth up the theatre of life? Is my savoring of quietude now a torture within me burning? Do I wish to be ravished by the storm?
At least, it would be done.
At least, it would be past water.
At least, I would know the extent of its atrocity.
All sunshine has surrendered to the imposing darkness. Praise the fanciful romance everlasting! The cold floor has hardened, but it cannot be thus for longer, and-
Nevermind. I cannot further my observations in sainted silence.
The door opened. The artificial lights turnt on. The storm came, and I am bored.