Pouring rain causes me to have the same excitement a child has when they see a brand new toy with amazing features is in stores. The child would beg their mother if they could have it and the most satisfying response would be “I’ll think about it.” Meanwhile, if it starts to rain. I’ll longingly gaze out of the window for a chance to run out in the midst of it and to reappear in the dry lands, completely saturated as a foreign testament because in my head, I am a hero. I conquered the rain. Nevertheless, I always end wet. Sometimes, rain falls slowly and from the dry lands, it appears calming, luring people to stay in their beds until their dreams intertwine with their memories, making a bittersweet reality that never existed. Upon leaving the house because of an obligation, it ceases to be an adventure and ends up being an inconvenience. Cyclists end up covered in mud mixed with the grime of the road while walkers slowly trek their way through the rain, their only shelter an umbrella so the drumming resounds like a military march, reminding them of things to do and things incomplete as well as lost dreams. The business man would say that their dreams would be finished after the rain stops, but in some places, the rain never stops. The drivers never learn the technique of whether or not they should walk or run because in their car sits their temporary shelter. When you follow a driver closely, you’ll hear the sigh of relief with the windshield wipers after the sputter of the engine, like a utterance of gratitude for technology. Rain is the physical entity of sadness. I see no true metaphor besides everything is flowing away and picking up debris covered in everything else. Dead and lost leaves slowly drift through small rivers, never existing until the weather shifted. Garbage piles up on the street corner and new shoes splash in the mixture. No one truly rejoices for the rain because it is an inconvenience that follows you around and not something you can truly admire from a distance.
Written: 10/16/16 12:35am