💧💧💧💧💧

It is as if, these torrential rains could have the eroding power to vanish parts of the world I once knew. Part of me longs for it's metamorphosis, for my inability to recognise them anymore as I let them go while the other, feels as if, along with the currents, seconds of my time in those places drift away, scattering the memories of my brief existence amongst broken twigs, humid leaves and a tin can by the banks of some unfamiliar town. Isn't the existence of a city as fleeting as the lives we lead? Aren't these solid constructions but dreams that last just a little bit longer than ourselves?