falling rain

the rose

i lie down next to him on the wrong side of the bed, on the edge of the bed that is his and snuggle up next to him. he’s asleep but wakes slowly and smiles then fades away again. the radio still mutters world events and his bed light still oozes gently. i feel his prickly beard hair against my skin and listen to his breathing and the pitter patter of the falling rain. one of the most beautiful sounds i’ve ever heard; his breathing intertwined with the falling rain.

the baby moves around in my belly, as if to demand attention, i smile inwardly, with anticipation, knowing i will meet this little creature one day soon. we’re preparing for his arrival with great joy and care and a bit of awe, too.

i’ve been painting this evening, focusing on the texture, layers and flowers. there is something about effective texture that excites my brain, not sure what that is, but man, look at this;

the rose, detail, texture

i can’t help but find that terribly exciting. hee hee; like art porn. ;)

i’ve been a bit restless and contemplative, slightly internalised, withdrawn, pondering. i am so aware of how little it is i know. not that i think knowing is that important, but i’m often surprised by what happens in the world or what people do.

sometimes, all i want to do is lie in bed, in the dark and listen to the calm of the falling rain.

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