The Forgotten Days

I want the late summer afternoons. I want to sit on the roof and see the sun finally bid goodbye to the day, to say hello to someone else in some other place. I want to smell that warm, fuzzy, sweet (imagine the sweet warmth when honey trickles down your throat) air which is fresh and loaded with the promise of a fun evening before we head over and sit to study. I want to sit at the edge of the roof and see the pale moon become darker as the birds return home forming a shadowy silhouette against the darkening sky.

I want to see the cloud gather and turn the sky inky and feel the anticipation of the cool raindrops on my face. That smell when it rains on the hot and tired earth rising up in vapours lifting up your spirit with it is just so special and makes you feel special just for being able to breathe it in when you are sitting in this tiny corner, all forgotten. All the days and evenings are lost and more will come only to be lost again. That is the beauty of nostalgia. You will only remember the comfort they caused and help you mask over the weariness that you feel now. The warm sun, I want to drink in the warm sun, not the humid air that surrounds me. But I don't want the heat and hailstorm and the fear of washing away or falling down. I don't really want the stones and thorns, I am just thinking of the red summer skies and the kites, the red, blue, green, white and black kites.