PROSE: Melatonin Moments 

The rain seemed heavier when it had been at my window; the inconsistent curdling of the grey sky had somewhat settled now and left brushstrokes with the inky clouds. It feels like it’s been raining for days. The hours slip by so swiftly sometimes that I’m often greeted by the gloom when I awaken – irresponsibly – in the late afternoon.

I swear if I stare hard enough I can make out magnificent veins in the water droplets rendezvousing on the pane – they are so lively and charming and full of life. They don’t compete for me on the glass anymore, I don’t see them as rivals as they make their way to the sill; they are working together, in fact. Some of them combine and some of them part and some of them simply prefer their independence.

I like the way the droplets create art on my clothes when I step outside. The unfortunate transparency that comes with the badly thought-out situation of white shirt and water. They are quick at installing temporary windows to view my goose pimpled and pallid skin without my permission.

What a cliché to cry in the rain, I thought, as I quickly dismissed the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. What a cliché to kiss in the rain too, who romanticised that anyway? The drops that dance on our cheeks when we are drenched will all be in vain, I won’t participate when you pull me closer and place your quivering lips on mine.

 

I won’t enjoy the moment, I’ll be too busy fretting about when it will end. I won’t even admit that I liked it – but I’ll worry about how much I did. I’ll beg for it to rain in the comfort of my room so I have an excuse to reminisce involuntary; about the way your hands fumbled in my wet hair at an attempt to move it from my face, about the way the delicate droplets ran off your nose or the way you looked at me afterwards. I’ll jump at every opportunity to feel the sensation on my skin even just for a little while.

I’ll retire to my bed once more, hair dampening the pillow as I lay on my back and glare at the ceiling. My breathing synchronises with the wind as it exhales at my window, it sighs almost as it catches a glimpse of me through the curtains. At this point I’m a mass of melancholy and melatonin, simultaneously thinking about you and how not to think about you.

 

 

*In this piece I wanted to use alliteration to reflect certain sounds and ideas – Lots of plosive ‘P’ sounds to reflect and imitate the pattering rain outside, heavy sibilant S sounds to create the sounds of rain showering outside. Another sound to note would be the more aggressive D sounds when the narrator is more intense, like she’s stressing these points more than the others.*

 

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