The rain is falling in soft folds, covering the city streets in cool, grey, silken sheets. Drifting around me are the soft chords of classical guitar and the room takes on a very melancoly feel that I keep trying to sort out. I find myself wanting to go somewhere and sink into a soft cushioned chair and watch the world through blurred windows.
The day is slipping away and I am here, in a brick and steel box, envious of the rain.
I had a migraine last night. Today I am better but the feeling I am always left with is that I missed or lost something. The migraine thief slipped in and took away another day. Of course, it isn't true but that is the way it feels. I don't know where that comes from, just as I don't know what triggers the pain. That crawly feel in my head, that precursor to the real pain, keeps one on edge and so perhaps that is the source.
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