Of rain and passion and the things that never begin and always end

Was supposed to be an off day because of Eid but the moon just couldn't wait, apparently. I had happily fitted about a million things-to-do into my chutti day, so the moon's deception made me a tad mad and in the morning I decided to not go to college anyway (post Diwali and Bhaidooj gift packing, family meeting and cousin chilling ensures that I'm also very very tired).

I was reading this blog where the author was talking about the intimate relationship that exists by default between an artist and his appreciator. And also of how the works/artists you start loving in a fiery, passionate way slowly gather dust in the store room of your brain (they reside there with due affection though...you know how you'd smile fondly at an old ragged soft toy sitting in a shady corner of your room? You're smiling no doubt, but that doesn't change the fact that the poor thing's lying in the corner no?!) and the ones you perhaps chance upon, the ones that grow on you -- well, they stay pretty much somewhere in the fore. The human aspect is introduced here (and you realise now that the author of that particular blog is the kind that lives in analogies and delicate translucent connectors between the world of the creative arts and the real world, perhaps redefining reality as the world of books and paintings, because really, isn't it here that people really really bare their souls and being?..ahem, this is called getting carried away btw..just fyi!! )
Anyway, as I was a-saying, the 'human aspect' is that relationships with people are quite the same- passion mutates into some sort of fuzzy affection, whereas affection that grew over time becomes this solid, almost physically tangible rock of love (though I wonder if it never turns into passion,which I think it does, and if it does then does it not also fizzle out like a can of Coke that's been open for far too long?)

So, this concept we formulate thus -- passion rises, and falls ultimately, but what you 'grow' to love, or that which grows on to you - it stays, doesn't disappear or get diluted because it's probably always just, umm...'growing'?!
On the lines of something like 'better to fade away than to burn out'? Well what did you think? Obviously Cobain couldn't have gotten it ALL right no?:)

Somehow, I think that even if I agree that passion has a certain shelf-life which gets burnt out or spent ( which I don't, no I definitely do not), I think I'd still prefer it to an incessant, inevitably unending sort of 'fading away'. A feeling the likeness of which I compare to being wary of words such as 'inevitable'.

Okay, here's a question. Would you prefer a joltingly fresh burst of rainfall, once in a while in many a long and short whiles, but perhaps always ignorant of the ceratinty of the next spurt of heaven, not just of the timing of its occurance but of whether it'll come at all, ever; or would you make happy slits of your eyes, your lips curled into a strange line of lovely unidentifiable pleasure because the heaven's cry, softly and constantly( they've never seen God and can't decide whether he exists or if he is just a creation of the lilliputians' very lively imagination) drizzling their pain forever?
Which one?
Which one??