To the raindrops on glass

To the raindrops on glass,

In a subtle brushstroke of the creator, just how the mild sunshine complements the rainbow, you were tailor-made for glass. On hot summer evenings, when petrichor fills the earth to its brim, I never fail to notice the droplets on the window. They take me to parched lands, where the dark clouds had finally given some hope to the many rippled foreheads that waited. You slowly engulf the glass, drop by drop, until the greenery outside melts in a distant blur.

On those mornings that ache in the burden of routine, while in the office cab, I see the driver wipe off the romanticism from the road ahead. It reminds me of the name I had scribbled on the glass, slowly succumbing to leaving it foggy in the imprint of my palm. I have seen a few others draw broken hearts since.

You take me back to old family albums, slowly catching a yellowish tinge with age, where happy faces were captured smiling on a breezy afternoon by the shore, unbothered by their rain-soaked belongings. Some of them aren’t with us anymore. They only reside in photographs that I have tried sniffing sometimes. Maybe, they still retain the smell of the salty air in them.

I have often woken up, alone, to find you lashing at the panes on cold winter nights. I could sense your determination from the sweeping trees that had finally got the better of the guy's umbrella, made him give up and run back home instead.

Giving up was always the easier option. But as I said, there is a certain beauty in the tiniest of your instances. Be it the raindrops from the clouds or broken waterfalls from my eyes, I have seen both dry up in the mildest of sunshine.