Boxed Thoughts

something about perceptions and appearances

Raindrops splatter the pavement forty feet below my apartment and appear to puncture the blacktop, but I know better. Or, I appear to know better.

Regardless of my inability to let rain be rain, I find solace in the dim day, though only for a moment. As I squint, searching for words on the fog-slathered horizon, the mist trailing the nimbus blanket between me and the sun makes the treeline in the distance appear pixelated, a haze of dots like static dribbling from the sky’s white noise. My eyes drift upward and blend the concrete scene into a picture only I can see. It’s beautiful, ineffable, fluid and moving, empty of definition, bleak and brief, and so, so fucking beautiful.