Monday Morning

The morning was overcast with a few rays of light here and there. I decided to go for a run. The air felt dense with heat. When I came back home I bade D'Artagnan good morning and washed away my sweat. I watched sixteen candles and ate soyrizo. The mood struck me to write so I put music on, "Little Joy" to be exact, and lit a candle. The sky had grown cloudier since my run and i stared at the clouds to find a character, a scene, something. The air turned cool in a summer way and heavy drops of rain began to fall. Dispersed among each other significant enough to make a hush sound. It was in between a sprinkle and a rain as the spanish red roof tiles grew in red intensity among the grey clouds and black asphalt. The scene was so beautiful that it made me want to reach over to hold your hand, though I am alone. If i could reach over all the houses and trees, all the streets and people to find your hand waiting for mine, I would. To find your fingers locked with mine, I would.