It's raining,

How beautiful.

Everything is blurred and muffed.

My senses are non existent.

The leather of my seat is warm.

A fire burns behind me.

I don't know who lit the fireplace,

But I seem to like the comfort.

Through the crystal in-front of me,

I see colours.

Quiet whispers are heard,

What is being spoken?

The heat on my back is welcoming but painful.

Sometimes too much but also additive.

I fall back into my chair,

Exhausted.

The flames hug me,

How relaxing.

I sit up,

The rain is still pouring,

But I can hear a bit clearer,

And warmth stings my back,

A colour behind the glass came up to me,

And through the screen,

It said "You always look happy to me".

The fire crackles and grows.

Maybe the raindrops on my window morphs my face?