Sitting on the steps that face the big bay windows in the front of my house, i watch the currents of water flow down from the sky. My front door is open so i can inhale and obsorb the saturated air into my lungs. It clings there, thats why i love this kind of weather, it lingers like a fond old friend at a reunion. Sucking in again and again layer after layer clings then dissipates. The constant drumming resonates, each drop hitting the pavment with its own heartbeat. It crechendos untill each H2O particle is no diffrent, more special, or even more knowticible than any other. Gazing out my window, if i relax my eyes, i may even make myself believe it isnt raining at all. Sheet after sheet of semi translucence, and i can make myself not see a thing. That was the problem in the first place, wasnt it? The not seeing. Its the reason im siting here in my big lonley home alone, analizing the rainfall.
Not that raindrops arnt facinating things, i apreciate their ability to bring life to the common blade of grass, or the most beautifull flower, as much as you would; but i can not lie to myself to say that i would not rather be attenting to other thoughts than that of rain. Today for example. I would like to be honnest and say that today would be a lovley thing to analyze. But the black twisted fist round my heart refuses to allow it. If i thought of today, i would rember the feeling of death that had lingered behind my eyes for a moment. I would think of how those i considered close to me, as the rain that clings to my hair and eyelashes, had incresingly drawn away from me and left me to the creshendo; to be alone in a sea of adolencent drama.
Children, like myself, falling through life from day to day flinging themselves into any experience they can to let themselves say "i feel alive." this is the curse of us raindrops. We have nothing to set us appart, other than the things we cry about in our empty houses. The things that grip our hearts, and make us look at life with relaxed eyes. The things that take our lives from us, and trade it for us, giving us back a empty shell to use for exisitince.
Worstly, I would think of her. How she held me close in the halway, when our voices ecchoed from wall to wall in the emptyness. Our hearts and breaths rushing, as we enjoyed the rare moment we had to share. The looks of the spectators, confused and allarmed at our solidarity in this sheet of semi translucent existince. How she had placed her head on my chest, and i held her round her waist, and she whispered to me "i can hear your heartbeat". If i took the time to peel away the layers of lies i have saturated myself in, to see what i had lived today i would realise somthing dreafull. Today i was happy. A happyiness so forign and abrupt to my usual non-exisitce amongst the masses, that this sudden moment of solidarity would give me whiplash, or jetlag, or simply make not having it that much worse.
Indeed, alone as i am now, i feel the loss of what i had. That loss is what spins the happyness of today into the turmoil and death of utter downfall. Equall and oppisit, from then to now. I sit with a phantom memory beside me. The chreshendo becomes defaning as the rainclouds pass above me with a vengance. I can no longer keep up with the layers of sateration, the sound is deffining, and i give in. She, today, happyness. All are lost in the rain for the sake of nonexisitng so that i may live my life amongst the raindrops.