Raindrops fall in a frozen trance, each droplet reflecting a moment of emptiness, emptiness defined by an afternoon of rain. Like a metronome of chimes, the day was idle, my window drenched in the very fabric of confinement. I stared out into the world I would never know, forever taunting me with its open streets, its endless paths all leading to freedom in some shape or form.
Yet here I was, or rather, here I 'am', a speck of thought known only to the Gods, I [walk] throughout the mansion going room to room without the slightest notion of sound to betray me. Invisible to both mirror and man, phantom of the corridor or prisoner in captivity? Home sweet home, how I long to be a raindrop, careless and free.
Darkness sees no fault. No human imperfection as far as genetics are concerned. Shadows cannot lie, for their very being is an absolute image. Reflected only in the presence of light, yet there is no prejudice. The still of night carries with her a sense of peace, every whisper amplified yet each word lost in translations. Oh how long shall the shadows I've so long embraced play garment,cloak to my eternal night?
