Out of the Window

Here again, I am glancing outside of the window, just like I always did in the old days. 

The sky is growing darker, and wind blowing among green leaves, which in my memory never turned into other color. The building not far away has been empty for what is like ages.

I feel it's raining. But it's not. The road, down at the bottom flat ground, is dry.

For a moment, there go back to me pieces of fantasies I once had, long long time ago, wrapped in a blurring feeling, like a child's perception of the outside world.

Usually after this moment, there followed a busy night. I would time after time be touched, but always busy enough to let it slip away without a trace.

Now maybe something is lost.