“What exactly do you like about the rain?” She almost whispered it to his ears. The heavy pour was making all the sounds disappear. The thunder was roaring once in a while. He knows she doesn’t usually like to raise her voice. But this time, she did raise her voice even though it came out like a whisper. “What is there not to like about it?” he said. Her chuckle which hid her scoff cut him off. “Wha…t? What are you scoffing for?” He was expecting her pretentious, almost always pre-formed opinion about it. Not that he hates it, it just kills the mood or his fervor when it happens. His fondness for rain couldn’t be less changed because of this. But, he was giving her a chance to say more about it. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about things in hyperbole. This is just a talk. Not a poem or story. Just state it plainly. Like in the real world. Not like hanging up in some fantasy. As if you’re taken aback by the former world. So, what do you like about rain?”

He wanted to say how non-artistically artistic her response was. But he was afraid another scoff would cut him off again. “I love rain. I feel like the sky is letting go of some pressed-on feelings at once. I like how it cancels all the other noises. I love how people are scared of it. The serene helps me think. The quietness gives me solace. And the thunder helps me sleep. Watching nature acting up salves my pain.” Her solemn look gave him the courage to rant about his true feelings regarding the rain. “I like how it quiets down the crowd of the city. I love the spontaneity. You could guess it might rain. But it will surprise you whenever it does.” He gazed to the outside as they were sitting beside the glass window. The fat droplets are thinning down. It almost seemed like a drizzle now. He wanted another cup of coffee. A hot cup of coffee as he was feeling the cold air down his spine. She was too far gone into the wind. Or the rain. He knows how much she detests the cold. And the rain, too. So it is highly probable she was trying to see his point just for the sake of it. But she really seems to be taken away. 

“What about the grey color?” She asked all of a sudden. He almost choked on his coffee. “What about the black and white mode of the view? How did you not mention that?” She was looking at his face. “yeah, yeah…there is that too. Wait, since when are you interested in the rain?” He asked a bit eagerly. “I don’t know. Well, people change! Isn’t that what you say every time?” She responded while touching the freckles on her face. It was a habit she does whenever she was thinking deeply. In a way, she felt like her outside was reflecting the inside. Who could see the freckles of her soul? Who could feel the unhealed bumps when one is void of freckles? He wished to touch their bounds. It was like the art of constellations which he couldn’t recall the name of. 

“he..llo!” She waved her hands across his view. He woke from the daydream he was having. The rain was intensifying once again. “Yeah, I…I never thought of it that way. Somehow I’m taken by the golden hours. Unlike my usual likings, the golden hours of the dawn have some effect on me. But now you have mentioned it, that could be one of my reasons. I just didn’t know it yet.” He gave her a smile mixed with a sigh. He always stammers when he is caught off guard. She kept playing her fingers on the strings of her freckles. And he was once again taken. Her freckles matched her brown eyes. Her eyes might seem dark just like her hair. But with appropriate lighting, she is a brown-eyed girl with a brown hair complexion. 

The quietness is blooming on the streets. The rain seems to take a pause for a while. They roamed over the streets quietly. And the nighttime was hastening to conquer the day.

I walk around holding the void in my hands. I act normal and tranquil with what I have. For many, I appear to be fine, perhaps great. The futile life of mine is spreading like poison throughout my veins. I savor the bitter taste in my blood whilst feeling the ache in my bones. Fragility is the new feature of my body. I walk, and yet I hear the crackling sounds of my bone, the ticking bomb in my head, and the rising tide in my heart.

I used to wonder how emptiness can be powerful enough to feel a void. Because the moment the void is filled with emptiness, it becomes a deserted island altogether with itself. Emptiness filled my void, then I became the great beholder of vanity for I am altogether vacant now.

Behold, the moment emptiness bewitched me, I became vacant of vacant. Who else would fight me to behold the title of vain anymore?