Rain is knocking on the doors of the Years gone by

The day outside is little strands of old rope in the rain, a hammock or a clothesline. frayed fibres holding drops in each hand, and poking little holes in the sky. 

If you've ever run your hand along a rope like that you would understand how it feels to hold the starry sky. the smooth, inky, peacock blue ocean through your fingers and the stars jittery sequins on your palm.

so that is the Monsoon outside and I am sitting here writing to you. 

Lately there has been a surprising amount of time I havent been keeping and a lot of years I havent accounted for, its all flown through me and above me like the waves in Puri, at the beach that carried Bade Papa over me as I watched delighted from under. all the aqua green tiger stripes filling my vision and flooding my consciousness forever. 

even then I thought, is this how it feels to drown? is it so pleasant?

it isnt and yet I wondered with so much surety.

Today i was thinking about how back in college every person i met that i thought could be just a little bit alright to befriend would answer 

"porcupine tree"

whenever asked what their favorite band was.

some guy named Stevie as the frontman.

everywhere you go, just that fish tree band. And this morning i was thinking oh hey now i can shade-joke about this in my instagram cus im outta college and that city, and

I didnt even realize,

its been ages. I have been out of that city for ages. 

I left in 2019. this is me here cuddled with the clouds outside,

free and hair with a blue ribbon in it, healthier,

curvier,

a bit of a roadblock here and there occasionally, but I am out of that life.

its finally spit me out, it did so years ago.

its been four years. Thats the amount of time I spent there. and now its been four years since i last did that.

I used to wish for this weather and i used to wish for the warmth of this home, the freedom to make art, to find my little soul in art, in music, in everything. to be held by my mother like a kitten or a cloud in the sturdy and tender embrace of a tree. to become the giggles that leap out and crush over the furniture, and slam against the windows, to fill the house with the sound of affections. 

Proof, that here, at one point on the universe's timeline, all that existed were unadulterated giggles.

love. and pure joy.

The closet is warm with the clothes and the rooms are sleeping next to the rain and the trees have moved closer to the windows nuzzling, perhaps even gossiping.

there is much to admire here, for everything and everyone, there is so much here to love and adore,

to sleep in the soft lull of, to hold between the fingers, and to hold between teeth, and in breaths and inside books-

including Me.