Published in the 90s
Looking out a rain-streaked window brings to mind childhood images; snapshots of rainy days, cozy rooms, Christmas trees and Santa Claus. Pictures flood my mind, memories of soaked shirts, muddy shoes, sunny smiles against a gloomy backdrop.Through rain-streaked windows r can see innocence lost…is it just my eyes? Or could I reach out and touch those moments played out in between the raindrops?
Funny how the neon lights run together like a watercolor collage, how everything glimmers. Out on the the street, cars and people take turns in a rainy ballet. Through rain-streaked windows, the world takes on a newness, a rebirth of beauty. What a shame these visions are just a mirage; if I turn away, reality is sure to smack me cold and hard in the face, chasing those pleasant memories into a dusty corner of my mind. After all, this is only fantasy, of simpler times filled with happy eyes and geniulne smiles, moments when giving came from deep inside each of us.
Fantasy, true, yet I can feel these moments; like the sensation of a lover’s kiss, they fill my senses. I can hear laughter with each droplet crashing, feel warmth, see love as each drop turns to rivets on my window pane. So why turn away? Better to lose myself in this pleasantly distorted world, better to fill my heart with joy before I turn back to my self-created masterpiece. The lines blur here – which is real? Is that happy lad still here, or did he pass on, resurrected as a cynical fool? I’d swear he was here; carefree laughter envelopes the room, mocking anger and despair. I can see him in the rain, drenched in the downpour, jumping in puddles, sliding on muddy lawns, playing ball in the rain. Through rain-streaked windows, I can almost reach out and touch his inner peace, caress his contentment, nurture the love within a child. When the dawn breaks,. I will forget these scenes, for such golden memories can never be held for long. Like the rain, they are swept away, replaced by the sun’s bright, unforgiving light.
I’ll make my vow to remember, but like so many things so important, my vow will fade with the images. The next rains will bring them back, and I’ll sit in this chair and remember…and dream.