There are those that live in the rain and those that live with it. She wanted to live in it, but I found that she is the latter. I watched her close as she sat by the window. Her reflection looking back at nothing as she stares out thinking of everything. She says she thinks of moving to San Francisco, how her clothes are out of date, why her cat hasn't come home yet, where it is. She says she thinks about how the sun beams down and how we ignore that it's really a self-igniting bomb billions of years overdue, that the universe is never on our side, and that the crystallized rocks and clashing colors are a mask for its darkness.
She thinks of puppies and kittens newly born and blind, of Pitbulls and Rottweilers and how friendly and amazing they are, why the oceans are such mysteries to us but our own cosmic address is not. She tells me that she misses my long hair but androgyny really suites me, that she distrusts those that are too upfront about themselves, and that she likes bubble baths overlooking the beach at sunrise. She says she thinks of budding flowers and how they bloom once the rain stops. She says she can't wait to see it.
She has told me she thinks of closing chapters and opening new ones but fears breaking the spine and folding the pages of a new book. She has told me her fears and worries about the cosmos, the world, our city, our front yard. But she also told me she thinks that the rain is a sign that powers beyond us weep because they see that we can change. She says she chooses to enjoy the thought that the rain casts gray clouds overhead and how it always brings flowers afterwards ... because she lives in a world after rain, rather than living in it.
Enjoy (:
