With each swirl or scribble, you connect with your childlike self, the one who marvelled at fogged glass and sketched stick figures and secret messages. There is bliss in the impermanence, the more tangible version of drawing pictures with a stick on the sand before the tide swipes it clean again.
The rain outside becomes your soundtrack, steady and soothing. Inside, protected by the coolness of indoors, you indulge in this tiny act of rebellion against the humid beast outside. You write names, silly phrases, hearts with initials…. And though your finger leaves no lasting mark on the world, it leaves one on your spirit.
Your scrawl becomes a transparent secret on a translucent world, a slogan, a motto, or even a whisper on glass with full and plausible deniability thanks to evaporation. Between the heat outside and the coolness inside, the scribble on glass becomes the vanishing message from you to yourself.
