I’ve always loved the rain. Unlike most people, it had a real presence, and something to say. Last night, as it poured down, it said “I have a story to tell.” The sentence reverberating in my mind, I felt the weight of every word ricocheting off the wall of the glass jar residing there. The glass jar contained within it a range of feelings from heartbreak to frustration, all of them taking a common stance on the negative extreme on the spectrum of emotions.
I wondered how the rain dealt with all it felt, did it have its own Pandora’s box, waiting for the glass to break and the emotions to pour down? It was time I tried recreating the safe space it gave me, the feeling of comfort that accompanied the embrace I received from it every time it knocked against my window left me in its debt. My forehead pressed against the cold glass, I listened to it.
Each drop thrumming on the roof was filled with longing. Longing for the rays of sunshine that cover meadows waiting for harvest, bathing them in golden light. The sunlight that glowed just like a mother holding her newborn against her bosom. The orb of yellow that stood as a symbol of hope and brightened up people’s moods.
When the sun and the rain dance through the sky, merging into one, that one moment shows the world the beauty that shines through all of its cruelties. The love child of the best of both worlds shines bright in its seven colors, illuminating the sky turned dance floor. This tale was one of tragic love, though.
“What went wrong?” I asked the rain, my curiosity growing stronger. At this, it fizzled out, giving way to droplets that the plants crave for when they go long without its touch to fill them up with life. The answer was spelt out in one word – ego. The letters tattooed themselves on every train of thought that followed as the rain went on.
They couldn’t grow together. The sun at its best made the rain invisible, it scorched watered lands and parched the throats of those wishing for the rain to bring water to their dried up river. The rain refused to blame the sun. It knew that the heat left the world torn asunder, leaving nothing but harsh truths; but the rain was nothing less. It brought a shadow upon the light the sun had to offer the world. It mixed with the grieving tears of the people whose lives the storms had wreaked havoc upon.
Love doesn’t arrive without its share of pain. I sighed and lifted my forehead off the glass window I wish was rose-colored. Stormy grey skies gave way to streaks of yellow, and the painted sky reminded me of the beauty of evanescence. They were star-crossed lovers, but never meant to be with each other. I made a promise to the rain: I’d spread its tale, so if someone could relate, it’d lift their pain, relieve them of their share of heartbreak. After all, what greater solace than the one you find in the whispers of rain?
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