«Still, it’s just the height of August, but leaves are turning yellow and fall…»
In distant thoughts, as happened oft, he wandered silent streets, caught in the heavy, piercing rain, sounding like lonely xylophone and heavenly celesta. Its diamond drops fell on his face, breathing life into the flesh, suffocating with heat. He tasted his favorite liquor, licking off sugar freshness from lips.
«Pluie vieille – is the unique blend of old flavoured whiskey, delicate flowers and herbs, essence of elusive brilliance, vapour of obsessive minds, canto of self-revelations, whisper of myster’ous lines…»
He never rushed as the rain brought him calmness. Cherished the vagueness suddenly enveloped streets. Its multitude seemed to him greatest enjoyment – he had aversion for ostentatious dresses and faces of blur. Hardly breathing…
Solar god - the social escort - choked him with ‘is blazing bane. Eyes were going blind, skin was burning, and soul was squeezing within, losing interest to arts… Hated light jumped into glasses of wine, reflected in windows, danced on the curtains – like scoffing at beloved of wetness. And he was writhing in sadness, wishing the wind to bring rainclouds back. Sometimes he even called the name… Rain…
«For some, blood – is the life. But, in my veins – is rain… And heart is cloudy forever…»
No one did curse him… He didn’t remember the past, but knew, he was always like this – lonely and strange. When he left the world of man, he came to «beloved of night». They tried to accept him, even, but the huge difference between ‘em revealed to be insurmountable abyss – then he was asked to leave. Above – he frightened them, beneath – misunderstood… He looked for another world, but never did find land of rain… And then he made one for his own…
«In my land – the Autumn is forever. My dearest Socrates – waltzing leaf in the wind. My sincerous listener – wet asphalt ‘neath the cloak. Experienced musician – rain – is my ardorous lover… Drinking from him I live… Fading without…»
Appassionata… in rain… They watched him with sight-through-the-grey-dusky-windows, taking as part of the rainfalling grief. Black spectre of lacklustre city – he merged into autumn oblivion, living above the thin rainy-drops’ shale, being courtly inspired by the magic of sullen beauté.
«They take me as a mirage… Illusion in the moment of rain… They pray to their solar god, and every tear is lying and restrained… What do they mean to me – those silhouettes in the passing-by windows? The ship is sinking, down to the bottom… Are the coffins prepared?»
He cried, drinking the nectar of rain, listened carefully to create something special… passionate… Sometimes he felt himself like a leaf, flied down from the branch, acting his life-most pompous drop – like the fiery Phoenix in the limpidity of melted silver. He wore the necklace of rain-gems and believed, that could grant it to someone… someday…

In distant thoughts, as happened oft, he wandered darkening city, admiring the paintings of rain made in double crayon of electrical lanterns.
That was his fabulous land… Here, ‘midst the thousands of windows, he was ‘live and entire…
His name is written in the rain…
Autumn vampire…