Drip, drip, drip

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Drip, drip, drip.
The world stands still but for those three drops. They come again, plopping onto the window sill.
Drip, drip, drip.
So still my breathing seems to heavy for this beautiful world, my breath fogging up the thin glass seems to mar the elegance of the scene.
Drip, drip, drip.
Trees stand to utter attention, some warped by the weight of the pale grey sky hoisted up upon their tall shoulders, their skin calloused by decades of the elements. They love these times, when a damp coating of water covers everything and all is peace.
Drip, drip, drip.
Upon this backdrop my ghostly face appears in the glass and I shudder. My hands dart to the frame and hoist the window open to continue my watching without me.
Drip, drip, drip.
Moist, cool air rushes against my face and freezes me too, the magic is undeniable, potent, palpable. My mouth hangs open undignified, sucking in the air that is the most fresh thing I have ever tasted.
Drip, drip, drip.
So quiet. This moment is a shard of ice, paralyzing beauty, tranquility, and silence. I cannot bear the thought of the shard being shattered, cast to the ground and splintered in a million shining pieces.
Drip, drip, drip.
The air pulls me forwards, my head and torso out the window, turning my face to the cold sky.
Drip, drip.....





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