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Maybe it's because with rain the entire artificial landscape of the city is covered in a veneer inescapably natural.

I don't know the reason.
But when a light drizzle hasn't had a break for twenty minutes and the golden going down of the sun has the whole world shining as our bodies prepare for the end of daylight warmth, I'm content.

I become a person with no need to force his words upon people whose own minds — I finally realise — are producing things just as tell-able.

A mind in the present without greed for anywhere else.

At peace with no need to speak.

Not a thing.

Except for telling people about it.