Air given water descends upon the glass, drawing pretty organic waves. And we rest here upon the bed mesmerised, our thoughts and dreams silently condensing, feeling the gravity of the moment and the travelling of our pain. The cosmos is such, is it not? It is a place of synergy of moments, teaching us how to approach our challenges. As newly condensed water beads, we must have the grace to go with forces beyond our control, yet take the chances to draw our unique wave upon the ether and pray it is enough to bring better days.
For all but the sense of scale, we witness rivers birth upon the glass windows, a wintry bounty of condensation.
Stories of raindrops are told upon the otherwise clear glass, their passage from the moment of condensation to the bold white border.
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