some perfect day.

some perfect life.

the day has gone.

but the life remains.

and strangely, so does the perfection.

A droplet of water sits on my window sill. Tiny yellow bits of light float in it. Like they are dancing to a slow trance. It is beautiful. Like a slice from a pear-shaped raindrop. It is clear and unpolluted still. It holds a galaxy of dreams. A lifetime of luxurious fantasies. I don't touch it. Don't want the possibilities to become a part of me.
Is it worth living when you can no longer distinguish between sleeping and waking?
but.
Is it worth dying either?
The droplet is now becoming clouded. Tiny white sediments are forming in it. They form a little cluster of doubt at its base, trying to rob it of its innocence. They want to introduce doubt and angst in it. They want to make it a teardrop.
I look away. Don't want to see the beauty get mangled, raped, killed.
But I need to know of its fate. So I look again.
But it's gone! Now there remains a wet patch. Like a memory. It has left me its best. And taken its worst with it. It fought.
Now that's life. And the beauty that surrounds it.