I stretch my hand out to feel the cool wind that has, by occasion, drifted into a hot summer's day. And I can see some clouds shaping from the east, about to envelope the Sun and save the sky from it's wrath. And presently, it begins to rain.

Softly, it falls on my hand, trickles down my fingers, and collects in my palm. The hot sand on the ground is now changing to a pleasant mud, emitting that familiar sweet odor. It reminds me of the story "There will come soft rains" by Ray Bradbury. But most of all, it reminds me of love.

Love, as I perceive it, is a strange emotion that chances upon select individuals at select occasions. It's hard to see an everlasting love. For at times you may hate the person you loved deeply once. And at times, this spark of love can be renewed from hatred as instantly as dry wood immolates into a flame.

A single doubt, a false hope, longing for a glimpse, can sometimes rend your heart to such a state - about a thousand minuscule fragments - that you're ready to do anything to get what you want. Even if that's a whisper that you wish to hear from your loved one, but you want it so much, at times. It reminds of a saying a friend of mine often repeats, "That no matter how careless or busy you're about your love, but when that loved one drops a single tear, you're ready to fight the entire world. And that's love."

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P.S. Perhaps this post is a direct effect of reading Wuthering Heights. A story of passion & obsession where the girl, Catherine, even says at one point, "I am Heathcliff." (Heathcliff being her lover.)