The words of my life, smeared ink by the destructive rain…. causing my words to bleed.

They become less clear.

This path that I had, the concrete ideas that were in no way going to alter. And yet, here there are, or rather where are they now? Smeared… blurred into each other.

A mess of ink.

The rain keeps falling, warping MY WORDS into a swirl of stress and unknowingness, but wait, their bodies transformed into something other than a ******* blot, unable to decipher the meaning. But what do I see instead, my words forming a picture… a beautiful picture.

It isn’t fully clear yet, but that is because it is still changing… maybe it will always be changing, but the picture continues to evolve, the lines will never be clear because the rain will persist, but now I grudgingly welcome the rain.

I do not find myself grateful at first, for it destroys what I have written. However in the calm of that slow ink seeping through the fibers of my paper, creating a scene I never would have imagined otherwise.

I thank the rain.