Droplets on my windshield

There were particles in the wind today. Droplets on my windshield. These long drives have curiously become a healing mechanism. And then there is him. I was thinking how lifeless, limbless loss feels. It's like that rotten tree leaf submerged under a puddle full of washed rain, the morning after. One who's shape and color is still vaguely discernible but it is gone nonetheless. As I turn on the wiper to clear my vision ahead, the flip flop with the clutter of fall tells me that in another chance, in another world probably he is doing that too. Or maybe he is, in this world itself. Particles in air that accumulate on my screen like the accumulation of silt on a riverbed. One can trace the path on their backs. Just like fate can be traced by feather light fingers on an open palm. Long drawn out summers, the humdrum of a faded life, distant echo of realities that would have been. Ought to have been. Like sitting cross legged and crystal ball gazing, under the voluminous clouds. Tell me your sorrows, and let me me give you light. I would. If only you could show me some light.