A Passing Memory
When I climbed the stairs of my terrace, to watch the dark grey clouds gather, growling with howling winds, waiting to wash away the streets while brushing my tresses, touching the side of my neck and reaching the ears, it would send a tingle down my spine. The big drops touched my parched skin, the cool imposing wind made it difficult to stand firm. Today, when I am confined to bed, looking at the wide open windows tossing right to left, curtains billowing ; hostile raindrops soiled in dust, enter through the window touching my feet. My toes curl looking for cover. Thunder, spluttering noise invade my room, causing my warm body to cover in goosebumps. I touch the tender dots and then rub to make it even. My sweaty tangles, smell of salt. As I raise my hand to brush it aside for the pillow to dry; I call my mum to open the windows again as the sound of slowed down fan running on backup is jarring. The flashback of half-satiated roads crosses my mind, when I covered the distance f