Out in the Rain

I don't care about getting sick. I don't care about being cold. I don't give a shit about my clothes sticking to me, the threads of red cotton and blue denim saturated with the tears of the heavens. People give me odd looks, rushing home under their umbrellas, sprinting as fast as they can through the cascading wall of water as they try to make it to dry ground. They think I'm weird because I'm sitting out in the rain. Me? I think they're weird because they don't enjoy the rain. What's not to love about it? It cleanses the land, nourishes the plants that so look forward to it. I lean back, parting the sopping, dripping curtain of my bangs as I stare up at the dark, angry clouds.

Of course, I'm not the only one who's out here willingly. There's those who walk the rain to mask their tears, black hair covering one eye, dressed entirely in that mystery of a shade (some say it's a color, others, a lack of color.). Their shoulders slumped, their gaze to the ground that they so yearn to be swallowed by. They look up and see me. They make a start towards me--then they stop. Turn around. Continue on their path of misery, as I am not the company they desire. They think I'm weird because I'm out in the rain with a SMILE on my face. I think they're weird because they only see sadness in the downpour from the skies. I come forth when the clouds first gather, embracing the beauty of the flashing, booming prelude to the howling symphony. Then the thousand tones of the rain hitting roofs, cars, windows, trees, the road, the curb, the grasses... all similar, yet vastly unique. And the winds... their chilling touch to the flesh is what most think of during a storm such at this. I hear the haunting embrace around my ears as it roars by. As people keep staring at me, just walking away, thinking, 'he's weird', I merely smile. I don't care. I don't need them. I'm content with the storm...

	Author	Topic: Out in the Rain (Read 620 times)
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