A midnight rendezvous with rain.

It's raining.

The chill wind seems to surround you and the trees right next to you seem to whisper and ruffle with movement. The silence of the street reaches your ear, and it echoes.You're worried for a moment, just a moment; you shrug it off.

It always happen anyways.

The drizzle continues.

You smile as you feel the pitter patter of droplets on the hood of your jacket. You've always had a soft spot for rain. Rain had always been, a comfort of sorts to you. You feel a twitch in your memorial lobe as you hear someone's voice said in a whisper of memory stating that most of your writing involved and evolved from the tiny water droplets falling from above.

You make a wiry smile. You've been in a middle of nostalgia and melancholy for a long time now, torn about all that was happening. Everything was spiralling, like a merry go round except faster than the it's speedlimit.

The rain's falling more insistently now, yet you remain at the same pace. For now.

You stare at your shoes, your poor poor shoes; you really should contemplate on buying new ones. Most of your stuff were worn out these days. Your forehead wrinkles as you ponder on the possibility that your constant walking on roads instead of pavements had contributed to that. Of course, you couldn't have done anything differently; darn country didn't have much pavement at all.

You grin as a memory washes through you, just like the rain was.

There!

You feel it.

Right then and there, you feel inspiration. The old companion that had long forsaken you for a small vacation has finally returned and you embrace them, you embrace them and you feel a little more alive than you've felt for a while, a little less useless. You can practically hear the verbs to describe the moment, the momentum to write a new spin off to one of your hanging stories that remain on a hard drive; never read by others except for your weary eyes.

You can feel your pace picking up as your brain's more lingual side shifted into gear. You need to type this out, and soon.

Perhaps you'll un-ignore that responsibility of owning a blog, and actually update a story or something. Tonight. It has to be...

Well, it's past midnight, you think, so you re-iterate back your words.

Withink 2 hours, your blog, your forsaken blog will breathe back into the web with an update.

2 hours.

You smirk as you finally, reach your destination; home. You rush in, barely able to enter the key; so eager were you to concoct something, anything.

It's been a while.

But woes you, as you sit infront of the white screen your mind can't make up what to write. You shake your head in disdain and dissapointment.

You look out the window : it's raining.

You smile.

You type the first few words into the empty box:

It's raining.