A walk through life.

It's cold, so cold where I am. I lie here with this sorrowful glint in my eye, and I think of the outside, that loving hand of warmth, of light and breeze and the smells of summer,passion, love and life. It's a shame that I’m only allowed out once a year, which seems a little quaint now that I think on it but that’s just how it is. I really do love those little outings. There are so many things that I regret but most of all I miss that day, the last day that I was allowed out. It's sad, it really is. I remember it so vividly. Thinking back on it, that was the best day of my life, or so to speak.

The rain poured steadily against the trees, bent over as if they had given up long ago. I could hear the droplets drumming a rapid, unsteady beat on the pavement as I trudged along the path, head bowed against the torrent of rain. The night enveloped my being in it’s soft grasp. The street around me was dark and empty; still and bereft of any other life. Even the blinding luminescent headlights of the occasional car had stopped now.This was perfect. It was just me, my thoughts, and the soft pitter patter of rain. 

I could see my destination in the pale flickering street lights, emitting a soft little puddle of light, like a drop of milk in a pool of ink. As the rain deepened I hurried along, yearning for the warm embrace of my house. The familiar little place I call home, although rather cold, cramped and dismal, it has an odd sense of charm to it. A soft homely-ness, comfortable in its own sense. I love it dearly, all the cobwebs and cold wooden walls. There’s a rather steady stream of new tenants where I live, no one ever seems to leave. It makes things a little cramped. But I don’t mind too much. My neighbours are quite quiet, too quiet perhaps, nevertheless its nice and more than welcome as I've never really cared much for disturbance, especially not now. 

A clap of thunder rang out across the empty street. Quick shocks of lightning escaped a sea of clouds above me. Three forks of pure white light in quick succession. I stopped for a second to take all of it in; the scent of the rain against the asphalt, each drop hitting the ground and releasing a sweet nostalgic cloud of mist. The sound of the downpour surrounding me, like an orchestra comprised of gloomy musicians, each playing loud as they possibly can, it's untidy tempo fills me.  Feeling the rain pounding against my cold skin, refreshing and calm. So peaceful. It’s like a dream, a distant reverie of serenity, dripping with the essence of life. This is what I miss most. 

I’m almost there. These walks in the pouring rain, as lovely and poetic as they are, need to come to an end eventually. For this I was almost grateful, as the rain was starting to dampen my spirits, just as it had dampened everything else around me. I wander through the tall wrought iron gate. Up the steep damp hill, soft slippery grass squelching beneath my sodden shoes. Huffing, I make it to the top. To my humble little abode. Tombstones jut out of the ground around me, morbid memorials to lives past, bodies expired. Im almost there, I can feel myself being drawn to that safe little place beneath the ground. As I climb into my coffin, the wood embraces me like a warm bed in autumn. Just as i close the lid, the rain starts to ease, I look contentedly up at the sky, dark clouds still blooming across it. What a wonderful walk I had.