This morning, I woke up freezing.

I had a weird dream. I don’t remember the details, but it was vivid enough to make me sleep on my hands, so I had to spend a couple of minutes flexing it to make it feel at least relatively like hands, and not tofu stuck on bones.


It was cold the way that it bites, and latches, temporarily, until you rub it off or take a few minutes under the blanket. It must’ve rained prior, else it wouldn’t be so cold.


I think I like these sort of mornings. I wake up and I feel obliged to return to my cosy bed and sleep through it; somehow it felt like the only plausible thing to do. And if I couldn’t, the cold will nag me awake and I’d feel more awake than usual, Goosebumps all around and the stubborn tingle down the spine.


The cold stayed the whole day, and by evening it ten-folded and turned into rain, one that stayed into the night and would probably remain a drizzle till morning.


I said today that I’d it like to rain. I regret it now.


It probably shouldn’t have rained. But it would, and it did, because it’s that time of the year. It’s that season, and it’s that rain that comes after a long bout of dry days fraught with the hottest sun. I guess I could say that it’s inevitable. But I reserve the right to say that it shouldn’t, and I say that yes, it probably shouldn’t have rained. It should be done with after the morning chill and yesterday’s torrent and as the right equivalent balance this evening should be dry and warm with a touch of wind. And in that way, I’m being childish.


But that’s the way of the world; when it folds on you, the only way to fight back is to demand that what happened shouldn’t have happened. It’s a lost fight, but as fights can sometimes do, it may make you feel better. I guess it’s a consolation, somewhat, that sometimes after a fight you sit down and you cry, you bawl perhaps and shout, but at the end you tell yourself you lost, and it’s ok, really. It’s ok. You didn’t make it lose. You simply got bested.


It probably never worked like this. It probably worked differently and harder than this, maybe. I wouldn’t know. I’ll find out eventually, and that’s the sort of bridge you cross when you come to it.


I can only imagine, and what I’m imagining now, is that it worked that way, only that it’s real, and really, really painful.


*************


I don’t know what I’m writing. I was hoping that it’d reflect of what I felt after receiving some rather sad news, but the way I see it, it’s a hazy mirror behind a fog.


I’ll keep it at that, and I’ll keep it here, so perhaps one day I’d come about and get reminded of it. And then maybe it’ll make more sense than it does now.


And for now, I’ll go to sleep.