Rain, Rain, Don't Go Away

There's something about the sound of a heavy rainfall that instills me with a feeling of hope. Maybe it's the way the shower sounds so strong, demonstrating that even what seems to be the tiniest sound can metamorphose into a melodic uproar. Or maybe it's the way the pitter patter of the raindrops is so persistent, providing me with the sense that no skill, no relationship, no idea--essentially nothing--becomes solid without consistency. Perhaps it's the way Mother Nature lets down her rigid walls and invites a forlorn drought to appreciate her tears. Whatever it is, it's soothing.

Sometimes, I want to be a raindrop. I want to travel the world, to see things others couldn't otherwise see. I want to visit different cities, to find myself in different sceneries. Maybe find myself in the light, morning rainfall in the countryside one day, and in the moderate, night shower in a busy city the next. I want to come crashing down one day and subtly drip the next. I want to find myself both high and low, enjoying the view wherever I go. I want to be able to take a look at things in different angles and perspectives. I want to meet different types of people, to greet the umbrellas of the grouchy rich, to embrace the palms of the happy poor. I want to create ripples, big and small. In a pond, in a lake, in someone's life. I want to be there for the heartbroken lovers, the newfound couples. I want to be present for the painful breakups and the endearing makeups. I want to know I can wash away someone's sorrows, or fill someone with joy.

I don't mind falling. As long as I'm not alone. And raindrops are never alone.