The rain calls for sunlight. Loud and crackling as it hammers the ground in excitement. It soaks your hair in dark clumps and leaves your clothes clinging to you for dear life. Looking up, there’s nothing but a haze of wet disaster.
Cold and chilling, it’s what you long for. That cold and unfeeling rain that listens no matter how sad the tale. But you have no intention, nor the strength for words.
The patter of droplets would drown your thoughts out anyway. You use it as an escape. A scapegoat for your tears.
You can feel them warm on your cheek, acidic to your tongue. The rain is the only thing that knows your pain.
It hides it without scorn or empathy. Like a warm blanket on a cold day, it feels nothing for you, but protects you anyway.
A cold comfort.
The drops that hit the ground and drowned your ears had stopped. The end of washing away.
Your eyes red, but face clear, cleansed by the cool patter of parting dissonance.
Sun streams through grey clouds calling for you to start again.
The pain is real, but so is the rain, and the sun.
A new beginning.