The Rain Came Through The Window

The rain came through the window, spattered on papers left carelessly stacked on the dusty desk. half formed words and forgotton concepts run like tears down the page. Writing turns to painting transformed by primeary elements. Nothing is lost this is what it was created for, the incomplete attempts completed by the forces of nature, by act of God. Destroyed but perfected in the same moment like those heroes born out of trajedy. Intent and pourpose washed away, the simple act of being.

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