Haven’t people like us romanticized the rain enough? But even after all these years, I can’t help but feel alive when a gust of wind crosses me, carrying a smell of an unknown land calling my name, an unknown voice whispering by. These eyes are so meek, giving in to the ghastly winds and pouring with the rain. This stormy weather was made for people like us, who hide in during sunny days, afraid to be exposed too raw, going outside only when the clouds close up together, forming a protective blanket for the land and maybe, just maybe, for us. In the murkiness of the ground, we are not forced to see our own stumbling footsteps. This comatose disappears with the cold creeping in our bones. But we are liars, we are. Don’t for a second think that we don’t notice the life thriving from the falling sparkle, sins being washed away, the warmth of our own breath, no, do not believe us if we say otherwise. It is the rain that gives us power, water filled eyes become stronger, our knees, ready to go through the rough. That’s what the rain is to us. For once, something can understand, the storm that is constantly within.
Yes, I do romanticize the rain. But darling, even for me minute, do not think that you will be able to handle, this raging storm.
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