The rain drops tried in vain to make love to the glass pane. The street lamp's rays flirted with them and gave them a golden hue. The breeze helped them collide into each other and languidly flow. The pane tried to stay aloof to the wet caress. Only the wood that held the pane could feel its muted tremors of ecstasy as every rain drop slid by. "Let go, let go" it whispered in the pane's ears. "How can I? When you have framed me?" was the pane's reply.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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