Rain
The rain. It was raining when I was born. The world and I got our first glimpses of each other through the pouring rain. The sounds and smells and the feel of rain is imprinted on me.
I love the rain. It calms me, soothes me, even scares me with its power. It reminds me of myself and the multitudes I hold within me. Soft, soothing, nourishing like light spring rain, bringing comfort and hope to everything around us. Or driving, torrential, a force to be reckoned with, capable of destruction and retribution; like the rains of October.
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When I cry, the sky cries with me. Whenever I’m sad, it rains. No matter where I am, no matter what time it is. It rains and it soothes me. I know I’m not alone. I know I will be ok.
I dance in the rain. I sing and walk and dream in the rain. I am myself in the rain.
When my thoughts are wandering but I need to focus, I listen to the sounds of rain. I read and write and dream about rain. I long to go somewhere that’s known for its rain.
It rains whenever there is an important moment in my life. It rained when I graduated. It rained when I travelled somewhere new. It rained when I was happy. And according to a friend’s culture, it will rain at my wedding because I opened an umbrella indoors.
It will rain when I die.
