Falling

He stares out through the open window. The rain blown in, by defiant winds, wetting him with it’s spray. It’s dark, the sun drowned out by the rain, and his hunched frame silhouetted against the dull light through the window.

I’m cold. I’d like a some hot chai to warm myself with. We would go out for chai on rainy afternoons , I miss you. I’d sit out with you on the balcony, the rain was always special to me. Maybe it was because I was inside, with you, I was safe and warm. The world cold outside, drenched with countless tears.

He looks down at his old wrinkled hands.

You've been gone long, your memory , an inheritance.
You would’ve told me to close the windows, because the rain would come in. There’s just me now, I don’t care much about the rain coming in. It reminds me of you.

We’d talk about school, I don’t remember a single exact conversation ; I regret not cherishing our last one. When was the last one? I don’t remember. With every rain, you're always there, waiting. The chai’s getting cold, you tell me.

Now that I’m old and alone, I’ve grown closer to your memories. With the smell of wet mud , I feel sorrow mingled with the sense of awaiting happiness, with no future to be weary of. When I see you again, you’ll be there, with the sound of rain, on a lonely balcony atop the world.