Rain

When I said I love the rain I meant I love the rain, and not I love staying in bed all day or even I love drowning the melancholy because sometimes, what I really mean, despite loving to lose myself in a spirited downpour and reveling in forgetting the difference between tears and storm water as they fall into blended rivulets down my skin, I love the rain because it is what it is and not what it isn't, and I love the rain because it is what it is, rather than what it represents: simplicity ping pinging against metal drainpipes, distortion of musical breath speaking into window fibers, to rhythmically conducting traffic, to sloshing between a day's ideas, to slowing it down, to washing out sin and falling across the atmosphere in blanketed dimension - I do feel what it is not, and I appreciate what it could be - but in the end, I strip thought of association, and strip myself naked to dance wholly in I love the rain, I love the rain, I love the rain.