Butterscotch

It was July...or maybe August. The skies looked so through the windows during these months. The years had been excruciatingly slow. The helplessness of each month, week...moment kept making profound incisions into his restless heart and his paralyzed body showed the effects. His body lay motionless on the bed by the window. He had learned to accept his immobility. The turbulence within him manifested itself with glorious fury when he stayed like this...and strangely he found peace in this turmoil.

He quit medications now. Just as he had quit the hope to revive both on the insides and outside. The irony, however was, his body's condition did not worsen as he had hoped. It stayed the same. He never had his way with hope.

Monsoons cast their banal curse on the skies as they evoked dark profanity instead of the pristine blue for which they are  known. Drops from a past shower followed each other down the glass pane and finally trickled down to somewhere below where he could not see them anymore. Drops that seemed like the tears he made her shed, which lost into silence. Silence - that crept between them after the events that had transpired.

Sun rays streamed through wisps of clearing clouds grazing the stretches of green grass fields at a distance. The wilted blades revived to greet the sun before the next spell of shower would wash them down again. In spite of whatever had come to pass, he had regained his lost faith in Divinity. Her well being had restored the faith. This calmed a part of him down Lately, he had been remarkably calm when amidst all the seeming misery and apparent agony, things had started making sense to him. A realization of the delivery of divine justice reinforced his belief in the Almighty. This sinner had met his nemesis. It all made sense.