Brent Dax (brentdax) wrote,
Brent Dax
brentdax
  • Mood: pensive
Rain runs down the window. There is no light in the room, except that provided by the screens; there is no sound, save the whirring of fans and the soft tap of water against the window. Piano music plays, from a nearly forgotten game of long ago, yet it doesn't play aloud; it's only in my mind, as I study the darkened window. I recognize it--Perfect Dark--and even have an image to go with it: a rainy trench, weapon and arm in view, not understanding what I need to do. That was as far as I ever progressed in that game, but I loved it nonetheless.

There is a little light outside, from the house across the street, and the sky is brighter than the houses below it. Rain means clouds, and clouds mean the lights of suburbia are reflected back upon it, brighter than any night is supposed to be. I love the rain, but I wish I could see the stars; irratinally, I wish I could see both at the same time. The stars hold secrets, mysteries, questions to be answered, yet they are so far away that we may never find those answers.

Not that I could see the stars here anyway. There is too much light for more the a couple dozen to show themselves.

I turn back to the screens and type. If I cannot find answers up there, perhaps I can find some in here.
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