when Rain and Mood are parallel.

Hello steemitean , after a long time try to something to write.

It is raining outside.
I really wanted to get drenched in that rain, but thinking of the past, I didn't go.
There was a time when I loved getting soaked in the rain. I loved many things, of course—but not everything has to have an end."

Nayan looked outside. Raindrops were falling onto his notebook.

It was pouring outside. If he wanted to keep writing while sitting there, he would have to close either the window or the notebook.

Nayan closed the notebook.

It was the very notebook he had once bought solely for "writing." Today, after about a year, he had taken it out again. Strangely enough, this notebook used to hold the details of his days—what happened to him, what he liked that day, what he absolutely disliked... everything.

But gradually, his life began to change. It changed so much that the writing which once gave him a sense of freedom now felt like an obligation.

Nayan stood up from his chair. He told himself that getting wet in the rain wouldn't do any harm.

Placing his glasses on top of the notebook, Nayan stepped out into the rain.

Before him lay an open field touched by greenery, accompanied by the gentle patter of the rain.

Nayan had once dreamed of living in a place like this—far from the city, at the very edge of some obscure, unfamiliar village. A place where his bond with nature would be stronger than his connection with people.

He would have a small house of his own. There, on a rainy day just like this, he would write page after page. He would wait for the moment his book was finished, knowing his readers were eagerly awaiting it.

Although the dream was dear to him, reality was vastly different. Nayan had never been able to leave the city; and while a couple of his books had been published, he doubted whether they had ever actually reached any readers. Each of our lives teaches us something in one way or another. Sometimes, life leads us toward our dreams; at other times, it takes us far away from them.

Something similar has happened to Nayan. Today, he is far removed from his dream. He does not even know if he will ever be able to return to it.

Nayan is doubtful whether the poetic rhythm he once loved so much will ever find its way back to him.

Yet, he lives on. It is not that he has a burning desire to live, but neither does he have the option to die.

All in all, Nayan is trying to get by in his own way. Perhaps, one day, he will truly be able to live—or to die.