I think Rain is the weary humanitarian.
She’s the voice of reason,drowning the world in throbbing anger with watercolours, smudging pavement and hesitant minds. Not tears, or sympathy, she’s yelling for us in pristine drops of impatience.
Wake up! What are you doing?!
She whispers so loud, she’ll tear us apart,ground swollen with her heartfelt anger. She hates us, really. She’ll erase us away,no laugh on her lips. Just the rat-a-tat of old typewriter keys and maleficent moisture.