He felt the coldness of the air. The warmth and pleasure of yesterday are no more to be indulged. He was soaked to the skin. The downpour stormed viciously and showed no signs to stop. He was alone, standing on the side of the shop, sheltering from the merciless rain. He waited and waited. He bored and tensed with the atmosphere. He yearned for something wicked, audacious and captivating. The rain is still pouring heavily. He looked at the ruthless rain, deep. He started to feel the anticipation and the good side of the rain. The rain seemed alluring. The drizzle drenched him deliberately trying to seduce him to go drowned with the cold and freezing rain. He wondered. He coveted to indulge into the entrancing water. He yearned to feel the freshness of the raging rain. He stopped. He wondered. If life is easier like the pouring rain. Tempting and captivating with the exhilaration of it. If his life were like the thrilling rain, it would be easier. He wanted to get soaked with the rain. He wanted to feel the bona fide excitement of the life and being himself. However, he stopped abruptly. His life is not as easier like the rain. Perhaps the rain has an intriguing side than the dreadful part that we always feel. Yes, rain is alluring. To get soaked and drenched into the coldness of it is marvelous. Tainted it is that the alluring rain finally will give not the pleasure but the appalling consequences of the excitement. That is the absurd certainty of his genuine life. It is indeed hard to be him. The true him.

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