this is unfinished, but I wanted to post what I had so far. I used to post my stories on here nearly 4 years ago (((sorry about that to those who lost brain cells to them, I just went through and had to suffer through rereading them))), and I wanted to post this one here. Feel free to leave a comment!
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Rain, rain, go away! Come again some other day!??? Is how the old childhood rhyme goes. Imagine it, a couple of kids standing by the window, watching how the drops slide down and merge with the others, how their breath fogs up the glass and giggle about the pictures they can draw into it. They lean their head back to the window sill and listen to the sound of the rain drops hitting the pavement, splaying across the grass, dancing upon the rooftop. The soft rhythm of a pit-pat, playing patty-cake with the earth???s crust drifts through their ears, getting even louder when they shut their eyes. It becomes a melancholy lullaby for the sky, the song the clouds sing to put the city to sleep- and keep antsy, reckless children trapped in their house for the afternoon. They open their eyes and turn to each other, pouting slightly before running off to cause more tragedy within the house, abandoning the scene of a weeping city.
Rain, rain, go away; come again another day.
It???s a shame, really, because I???ve always loved the rain; the way it clears the sky, the air, the atmosphere of that lingering feeling of disappointment. It washes out our breaths of sorrow to bring a signal of a better day, as the sun peeks through the clouds and the scent of freshly clean air fills our noses.
The rain is a symbol of the end of the end and the start of a new beginning, it???s a chance to move forward from the past and to look ahead at a future that we couldn???t even begin to imagine. I think that representation is what draws me so much to it. The need of repentance, the desperate desire of a rebirth seems to be the only thing that can clear my mind nowadays.
Now, when I say that I love the rain, it???s not a means to individualize myself. Every intellectual kid stuck in the pretentious shadow of art uses it as an excuse to call themselves unique. Every poet has line after line piled into their head to use as a metaphor about the way rain washes away sin, or brings upon the glory of sunshine, or represents an inner sadness that not even the world can help but bend beneath. Loving the rain is the new fad of dip dyed hair and wide frame glas