A Rain drenched Reunion.
Dear Readers, I'm waiting for an old friend. I've been waiting for a while. It seems that this comrade of mine doesn't reciprocate the fierce eagerness that I have to meet him. I don't remember his face too clearly.Like the radiant full moon disappearing behind enigmatic night clouds, my pal's face had faded from my memories. I think everyone's mind has an attic. Memories,like fresh,glistening photographs, Polaroids and films, flutter and settle in the attic ,until they turn into the sweet colour of sepia. Sometimes they float down clumsily from the lofty tops of sepia skyscrapers;like dried scarlet leaves from stiff autumn trees,making me fly into a furious,but silent and pleasant fit of nostalgia. I've compiled the most precious items from my 'attic' into this infinite book of intangible pages. Clouds whiz by me,reminding me that I was several thousand feet in the air,in a frugal,aquiline airplane. We duck and swerve below the cottony fl...