Floating in the void, outside; rain. The falling drops of water receding into the endless below, and further drops falling from the shifting clouds above.
The room remains as I remember it; serene pastel greens, light and almost grey. The single window opens into the outside.
Rain sounds against the roof above, filling the room with a resonant pitter patter as it continues to fall. Girting the wall, a pair of grey curtains, draping low to the floor, dusty and latent, waiting to be moved once more.
Illumination by a single lightbulb above, the room glows with a faint light-yellow luminance, providing a contrasting light against the ever grey horizon and stretching faint mist as the rain continues to pour as far as one can see.
Cushioning the floor, a ragged carpet of white, or once white, turned grey through wear, and frayed at the edges.
In the corner of the room, adjacent to the wall facing the window, a singular bed, low to the ground and with wooden frame. White sheets and pillow contrast the neat grey quilt that lays over it, though worn from frequent use, even almost deflated.
A standing structure; a bookcase, stands to the side of the room, nestled in the corner, black colouration striking against the gentle greens and greys of the room. In the sectioned areas amongst its shelves, dusty paperbound books sit forgotten, shrouded in dust grown from old. Amongst the varied books, a small frame sits, holding a faded image, now only appearing as a solid grey against the white border in which it lies.
Whirring of a solitary fan seeks only to break the sounds of rain, a waxing and waning pulse of air through the solitary petrichors and latent air around.
I let out a deep breath, and sat on the bed, mattress squeaking, quilt crumpling as I sank deep into its embrace. Though unnatural and aged, the room let out only an air of calm. The ever flowing trickle of rain from above, masking the apparent nothing in a fog of descending raindrops, though never forcing the air of humidity one would expect from this weather. The slight congregation of falling flows of gathered water, running down from the slightly slanted corrugated steel roof above, resonating as the downpour continued not to cease.
The faint flicker of light above, an inconsistent bulb, however familiar as it continued to pulse. White noise aired the room in pacific nature, and my eyes drifted around the room, every part just as familiar as I remembered. I lay down onto the mattress, body falling into the centre, sides declining though supporting with a sturdy strength. I stare deep into the ceiling, light grey reflecting back with slight tinge of yellow. A breeze flows through the open screen from the window, and the rain outside shifts along, a fickle motion, flowing and receding as akin to the tide. The room emanates tranquillity.
Head against the soft pillow, compressed against the wall, I close my eyes, and begin to drift off. Once more, I continue to dream.