First fall of colorless liquid on dry Earth seduced me to taste its kisses. So I came out like an outcast, waiting for petrichor to be revealed. Scream of thunder startled the calmness of my ears. Barefoot, I created pavement in muddy open land towards the deep well. Right now, I can endure drips of rain soaking me until my hands and toes get wrinkled. Bringing fragrance and scent of hair from my palm.
Rice grains were turning into golden yellow, making me reminisce happy moments that have slowly turned into memories, old but still gold. It’s been more than a year since I’ve proven myself that even rice grains get older. Like them, they’re only noticed during rainy season, in hardship, dearth and even in mourn. Like rice grains, they mean gold, the most precious ones during harvest time, triumph where happiness is copious. But what made me cutthroat is that people could trade rice grains into bars of gold---money. This makes everyone blind. They’re blind on their wants over the things that they need most.
Like rice grains, I only exist when you are about to meet death. Like rice grains, I mean invisibility when the only thing you can see is what makes you happy. What is it that makes you happy? Well, you’re the only one who could give the answer.
By the way, like the coldness of the pour, my whole-being’s getting broader and bolder. Instead of kissing and making caresses in the apparition of you that I’ve created, I just stood still until rain stops.