It's raining steadily outside. You're in front of a window, sitting on pillows and looking at the puddles that are just forming bellow you, on the pavement.
You breathe in, and when you exhale, the glass in front of you becomes foggy and the view blurrier. You start drawing patterns with your forefinger on the cold window. A raindrop touches that exact spot on the other side of the glass, where your finger is. It's cold. You can feel it, the difference in temperatures. Outside and inside. It's cold, it's soothing, just like kissing cold wet lips when you are a little bit too warm. It calms you down, it eases your senses. Your finger gets a kiss from a raindrop. Then the gravitational forces start kicking in and it starts to fall, to slide down the glass, until in reaches the wooden frame. You feel the need to trace it down, to prolong the feeling, but you know you can't, it would ruin the pattern on the window. So you let it fall.
Outside of you, of your room, of your building, it's still raining, the water is still gathering bellow. Your forehead is touching the glass window and you close your eyes. It's still cold and you can still feel it, nothing has changed. You breathe in deep and with your right hand you wipe the drawing from the window. It's just a name, as once it belonged to a face, just another face; and the clock keeps ticking and the time keeps flying by...

[photo: www.picasaweb.google.com/bowlerportraits/Illustrations#5133227264484009410 ]