Everybody keeps saying how they’d dance in the rain —
sway their bodies, feel the drops,
let the water wash away their pain.

But I say —
why romanticize what you barely understand?
You sing to storms like they’re songs of healing,
but don’t you know?

Rain is sorrow.
Rain is memory leaking through the cracks.
It’s the sky mourning something it lost,
not some magic meant to set you free.

So when someone smiles
and whispers how much they want to dance in the rain,
I look away and answer softly:

Everything but the rain.
                                                  -Asher Graves