the rain.

Photo // Michelle Shona

Yesterday's moderate drizzle was cathartic at its minimum, light showers without jarring volts of god's wrath in the form of lightning; the rain forceful enough to make swift metallic clangs as it hit the railing just outside the windows. The gloomy downpour began as evening eased its way incognito - the usual blurred hues of pink and orange were discounted, and in its place heavy grey clouds collaged itself. Actually, I don't remember the exact colours of the clouds, nor if they were brewing ominously or simply resting in the skies swirled with white fluffy clouds like a clumsy cup of cuppa, behaving as sluggish as their mortal beings below. Though, it didn't matter what happened as much as how it made me feel.

It'll be charming to say each rainy session inspires deep reflection and thought, but really it feels more like a comforting nod from the higher heavens above to simply be. Often times I drop everything, turn on the AC, connect my phone to the speaker and bask in tunes I assume people get high in, and snuggle ravenously in the confines of my single sized bed.

I pondered upon the scenes the mind's eye chronicled in the past year and considered the chain of events that ensconced itself upon my timeline, fully aware of the drudgery that inadvertently and unfortunately laced itself with these recollections, trying to find the silver lining. Some refuge and shade under the ivory awnings.

Journeys.

I know Anna Wintour said during her cycle of '73 Questions with' segment that the word journey should be eschewed in fashion lexicon for the all eternity or at least, for as long as her reign as matriarch of Vogue and inherently the authoritarian voice of all things sartorial shall last. But journeys, on those that indulge you the pleasure of making a second pair of opposing footsteps back, tend to feel way shorter than the trip taken onset. Perhaps it's the familiar route that makes it not so daunting, but the knowing that it's the same route can be exhausting if you know exactly how many thousands of steps more you have left before touching base.

Ever since my onslaught of days being stuck at home began, I've been busy in my own mind and since grew out of touch with real time; many midnights I don't know if it's a weekday or end, much less keeping up with the manmade artifice of dates. Unbeknownst to me, June crept its way in. Unlike previous Junes however, it seems like the routined mid-year millennial and existential angst had ridded itself, and instead a sigh of relief and heavy heaving of the shoulders. Though, I don't know if it's due to my acceptance that there's nothing more or less I could do at this time or I've completely thrown in the flag.

But in some ways it does feel like I'm back to square one before I dropped into the rabbit hole. I'm back in this state of awkward idle while trying to get better, going against the long letter to myself on new years eve.