I like the rain.
I have always liked the rain. New life flourishes in it, and old life is swept away by it, leaving a cleaner, clearer world by the time the skies have cleared.
I am intensely aware of the rain, conscious of every droplet that splatters on my coat, leaving a small explosion, a glistening memorial, before it slithers away and forms another drop, which falls to face the same fate on the ground.
There is no wind, surprisingly. Usually there is wind with the rain, making it fall in a slanted manner, and soak even those places that thought they were protected. But today it falls in sheets, straight down, drenching all that stands in it’s way.
I am intensely aware of the rain, but at the same time, I feel numb.
I watched him leave, climb on board a bus, without even a last glance back at me. Perhaps he was afraid of what he would see there, not pain or sorrow, but emptiness. Eyes devoid of life, of feeling. They say the eyes are a mirror to your soul. My soul is torn, incomplete, a part of it ripped away.
It’s funny, how you can think that something will last forever. That the days you have spent are merely droplets of water in the ocean of time. Like the drops falling on me now. Insignificant. Merely a part of a storm that will never end.
You become so convinced of this, that you fail to notice when the rain starts to slow. The cracks between the clouds pass without a glance. You are immersed in the rain, so much so that you take it for granted, that you presume it will always be there.
Eventually, the first rays of sunlight appear through the clouds, but you do not notice them. Perhaps a part of you does, but you are enjoying the rain so much that you do not want to believe it is ending. You can not believe that it is ending.
You hug the shadows as the sun begins to overwhelm the storm. You try to convince yourself that the sun is not there. You try to convince yourself that it is just a brief period, that the showers of rain will get heavier and thicker, soon, until the sky is dark again. You try to convince yourself nothing is going wrong. You try so hard that, eventually, you start to believe it.
But, outside of your knowledge, the skies are clearing at a rapid rate. But you do not believe it, lost as you are in your own fantasy, in your own belief that eventually the sun will fade.
And then, somebody pulls you out of the shadows.
The sudden realisation that the storm is over is so painful that you cannot accept it at first. You look in vain for the rain that was so consistent what seemed like only moments before. On finding none, you shed no tears. It is only a numb feeling, spreading inside your chest, like a drop of rain when it hits the ground. It is like a part of your soul has been torn away, like suddenly a part of you is missing.
Then, suddenly, in a moment, the pain starts.
I am walking, although I don’t know where to. The street is not busy. People are inside, sheltering form the rain, or huddled under umbrellas of inside coats, and hurrying towards a safe haven.
But I do not join them. I walk slowly, feeling the ever increasing strength of the storm, feeling every droplet of rain that strikes my face. My hood is pulled down. Rivulets of water stream down my face, through my hair, and down my neck. I do not wipe them away. Why should I?
I like the rain.
For when you walk in the rain, nobody can see you cry.