The Soulful Atom

Its nice being here..
Chilly and windy.
The wind blows, all the way from the west,
The sea blows himself hoarse,
From the west.. where i can still see the remains of the evening sun..
The clouds float by..
As if on a pilgrimage
Serene White cuddly and yet ferocious..
They cover me and my part of the sky..
The wind sings a lullaby that only a few hearts can hear..
I'm covered with a soft pearly orange glow.. out of nowhere..
The moon too seems to be overwhelmingly engulfed by the passersby.. The guests, The clouds..
I like being here..
The hair rustling all over the face, shading the eyes, caressing the lips, playing with the naked neck..
As i stand here covered in goose flesh..
Waiting for some sign..
Faces swimming, dissolving.. bring memories which do not wish to be awakened that moment..
Nostalgia tries its best to flood out my sense of being..
But.. It fails..
I like the air filling up my senses and making me be a sight for the clouds and the distant hills..
Among all of these.. The sky and clouds, The air and winds, The trees and leaves, myself and soul..
Being on top..