No. 20
YOUR rain
WALKING HOME IN THE RAIN UNPROTECTED USUALLY MAKES ME CRY…
But today, I’m skipping and smiling.
Normally, I’m never in the house before it’s dark on Friday. If I were, it would mean that I have too much self-control and discipline. Today, it’s not dark yet and I’m in a hurry to get home. Not because it’s raining, but because I’m looking forward to being inside before it’s dark on a Friday night. I think this is what freedom is. And what does it all mean?
The same thing it means to go to bed the same hour the birds start chirping. The nights when you want to cry and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re full of sorrow or gratefulness.
Out of nowhere, my favorite days have become ones where the sun doesn’t shine. Instead, the sky is grey and everything is dark. I’d love to know what that says about me. Probably that my ego has grown to think suffering is good. I don’t cry because of the rain anymore — it’s ruinous symbolism and untimely nature. I cry in solidarity with the sky. For there are many things I wish to never feel again and they are things that make getting caught in the rain feel like a privilege.
On this day of darkness and rain, the fog appears to be brushing or dancing on the rooftops of houses. I think to myself, “what a marvelous and difficult life we lead.” I look at these houses and find them shockingly similar to people. What does it mean to look at a house that isn’t mine though I’ve been inside before?
The same thing it means to never be able to express how grateful I am. It’s not that I don’t have the words, but that the words never come out. Like having earbuds in and knowing every lyric but being too afraid to turn the music on. For some sounds are deeply resounding truths that can be too beautiful and too meaningful.
