Night, rain and other quiet rustlings

On a whim, I decided to walk home after drinks at Balcony at 2am this morning. It was a cool night, I was wearing comfy flats and I simply felt like it, in spite of feeling ridiculously uncomfortable in the corset I'd been wearing all evening. (If you have to know, I was feeling bloated and wanted to look good in the photoshoot. Hence, beauty before comfort.)

I've always loved taking long-ish walks in the wee hours when it's completely quiet and miss doing that from my hostel days.

My companions of the night were the comforting night air, music and amber glow of the suburban nocturnal world. My sister called and we talked briefly, and on that lonely pavement, it felt like ours were the only voices in the world, even if we were doing naught but our usual B&M. The rest of the way home, I felt like singing, but decided I didn't want to freak out all the condo security guards I was probably going to pass by. I let the music transform my world and drifted through a once-familiar street, feeling as if my feet barely touched the pavement.

I woke up to rain today. Just the sound of it is intoxicating and nostalgic, and carries with it countless memories and promises. It was tempting to fling open the windows to smell and kiss the rain, the wayward lover that it is. But I settled for snuggling with pillows in bed, safe under my covers.

And then my day began.