Blog / An Old Book On A Rainy Day
An Old Book On A Rainy Day
04.07.2024 | Bhaswati Roy
Raindrops race down the windowpane.
A blurry curtain against the world outside.
A soft, gray light fills the room,
The kind that stretches shadows and mutes colors.
There's a quiet on this rainy day,
Broken only by the rhythmic drumming on the roof,
And the occasional sigh of the wind.
A tinge of loneliness,
A gentle ache in the chest,
Settles in the space between your breaths.
But then, your fingers brush against the worn spine of a book on the shelf.
It's an old friend, its pages yellowed with age,
The scent of paper and ink a familiar comfort.
You settle into your favorite armchair,
The worn leather yields with a sigh as you pull the book close.
The crackle of turning pages becomes the soundtrack to the afternoon,
Each rustle a promise of adventure or solace,
Depending on the tale within.
As you get engulfed into the story,
The world outside fades.
The leaky faucet in the kitchen,
The dust motes dancing in the sunlight,
All become distant echoes.
You're transported to another time, another place,
Walking alongside characters who become companions in your solitude.
The loneliness doesn't vanish entirely, but it shifts,
Transforming into a quiet yearning that intertwines with the story.
The rain continues its relentless rhythm,
A steady counterpoint to the turning of pages.
With each word, a warmth spreads through you.
It's a reminder that even in solitude,
There's company to be found in the timeless whispers of the written word.
And when you finally close the book,
Blinking at the world outside the window,
The rain might still be falling,
But the loneliness feels a little lighter.
The story lingers, a spark of warmth in the quiet,
A reminder that even on a gray day,
There's beauty and companionship,
To be found within the pages of an old book.
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