Rain...

The bed has a mound of clothes. Dull blues and mossy greens. A splash of orange, but no red . Or yellow. The white pajamas (rolled into careless balls) have weathered stains around the edges. It's overcast outside, but there is no way one can find that out in this room. The curtains have been drawn and the tinted windows are closed. The floor has a thin film of dust on it, a delicate thin film which registers footprints with heartbreaking accuracy. Like an eager child drawing alepona...