What if the clouds of our imagination collide and the downpour brings little drops of poetry? The droplets that rush down to water the dried souls. The droplets that make a stream of verses and go straight to wake up the dead from their eternal slumber. The sweet little drops that seep through the soil to reach the minute cells of mortals. What if one day, every human gets drenched by the words we pour? Words disguised as crystals, which they are blind to. Words that are strong enough to thump their heart beats in a melody. Words, that can connect lost souls. For words, my love, grabs every breath we inhale.
But I see the sky is clear. The grounds are dying of drought. Maybe that terrible gush of wind has made our clouds drift apart, so strongly that the gravity between us has ceased to exist. We repel and part. But I know you'll rain someday, and probably me too. Maybe we collide with another stranger who is pregnant with a different genre of words—prose maybe. But we'll rain. You in the plains, me down the hills maybe. But our droplets will seek each other, for they know where they belong. And maybe one day, when a writer stops by the river of our verses to drench his thirst for words, we'll be united again. We'll trace our path then, through the alley of his thoughts, for he'll be the one to ink us down on a sheet. We'll romance on the pages till another rain washes us away and our journey begins again!