Rain above the rusty zinc

Rain gently hit the rooftop of my old house, the roof is composed of systematically arranged patches of zinc, it gets rusty after all these years, there was nowhere in my house was quiet – only sound of rain.

“Can you recall anywhere I should make change to? It seems like it’s not working.” My colleagues’ voice came from another side of the phone line, a business call from another side of the country.

“Hmmm” the only sound I could make to show that I was actually thinking of something, my usual reaction. “Let me think about it for a while, give me a few seconds”

“Okay”

I tried hard to think about it. I looked at the wooden tiles in my room, the long tiles stretches from one of the wall to another side. I stared up the ceiling, the aging milky colored ceiling with spots and dirt on it – it has been left unattended ever since my departures. Then I studied at the patterns and illustrations on my pillow wrap, no visual came to my mind, no solution for the question. I thought was there anything I have left out but then there nothing. It’s like ten to twenty seconds I left the phone in silent. All I thought of was the girl who plays the grand piano.

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