You take me back to old family albums, slowly catching a
yellowish tinge with age, where happy faces were captured
smiling on a breezy afternoon by the shore, unbothered by
their rain-soaked belongings. Some of them aren’t with us
anymore. They only reside in photographs that I have tried
sniffing sometimes. Maybe, they still retain the smell of the
salty air in them.
I have often woken up, alone, to find you lashing at the
panes on cold winter nights. I could sense your
determination from the sweeping trees that had finally got
the better of the guy's umbrella, made him give up and run
back home instead.
Giving up was always the easier option. But as I said, there
is a certain beauty in the tiniest of your instances. Be it the
raindrops from the clouds or broken waterfalls from my
eyes, I have seen both dry up in the mildest of sunshine.