*NOTE: despite everything, yesterday when it was drizzling and an eerie wind blew, something in me sparked and wrote this. Maybe the beginning of a story. Or maybe this IS the story*
It is raining in the middle of the summers. There is a squall that is beating around stray plastic sheets and scrawled and scrunched papers tossed about on the streets. There's something about to happen. Or one wants to believe so when the winds howl about the trees scaring the leaves to a shiver. Something, not unpleasant. "But dramatic", the wind whispers. Grasping on to the fringes of cloth fluttering helplessly on the clothesline, curly hair entangled hopelessly in a mop Smriti lifts her eyes to behold a stranger across the street looking up at her. He crosses the road and rings the bell.
It is raining in the middle of the summers. There is a squall that is beating around stray plastic sheets and scrawled and scrunched papers tossed about on the streets. There's something about to happen. Or one wants to believe so when the winds howl about the trees scaring the leaves to a shiver. Something, not unpleasant. "But dramatic", the wind whispers. Grasping on to the fringes of cloth fluttering helplessly on the clothesline, curly hair entangled hopelessly in a mop Smriti lifts her eyes to behold a stranger across the street looking up at her. He crosses the road and rings the bell.
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