Rain
The rain can be nice. Nice in the way that it can show you what’s in your heart.
It can be soft and light like the sweetness in your soul. Mimicking the forgiveness you find after a blaring drought of pain.
It can be so cold, the opposite of serenity. An unforgiving harshness as it beats down on the earth in anger: “Why don’t you love me?”
It can howl and shout, drumming on roofs, begging to be seen, heard, and felt.
It can fall to the ground, straight as an arrow, touching sweetly as it weeps with your tears. If it could hold you it would but instead it drizzles, it pours in all these different ways trying to console multiple spirits.
Rain can be nice; rain can love you more than you love yourself, maybe even more than others have loved — and will ever love — you.
Rain can be a friend in the darkest of times.
Rain can wash away the dirt you feel beneath your skin and purify the shadows in your mind.
The rain will never settle, as it dreams of touching your soul and mirroring all the emotions of humanity.
The rain is sporadic and intense, soft and gentle-like.
— The rain can be nice, but perhaps the rain is only begging to be loved.

