Loving the Rain on a Wednesday
wfandaIt seems that waiting has never learned how to say goodbye.
For months, I have cupped my hands around hope, waiting for something that, from the very beginning, perhaps was never meant to be mine.
I long for something I cannot possess, someone so close to my sight, yet so impossibly far beyond my reach.
And yet, to touch you feels like a luxury that quenches my thirst. Like letting my fingers dance among the raindrops, feeling the chill that lingers for a moment, before the water dissolves and returns to become one with the earth.
But why are you so difficult to reach?
I have tried to remain within your orbit, to become the closest distance to your presence, hoping that my existence, even just a little, might disturb the silence hidden behind your stillness.
But it seems that being close does not always mean arriving. And being present does not always mean being seen.
Tell me, are you trying to protect yourself?
Just as I shelter from the pouring rain beneath this impenetrable dome, hiding my body from the wetness, as though I wish to remain untouched by anything I cannot control.
And yet, does water not always find a way through? Splashing against the tips of my feet, seeping through the spaces between my steps, leaving behind a chill so faint, yet enough to remind me that no shelter is ever truly impenetrable.
Then why am I the only one left drenched in these feelings?
Why are my cheeks the only ones unable to tell the difference between raindrops and tears?
While you remain standing there, whole behind your shelter, as though not a single drop has ever fallen in your name.
So how could I ever hate the rain?
Is this not far from the first time the sky has poured its heart out? Nor is it the fiercest storm that has ever passed through my life.
I have known rain before. I know what it feels like to be drenched, how the cold slowly creeps beneath the skin, how the sky grows dark only to brighten again, as though nothing had ever happened.
And yet, somehow, I still choose to stay.
Perhaps it is not the rain I love, but something that quietly takes root each time its droplets fall.
Or perhaps, I have simply loved the rain on a Wednesday too deeply— the day the sky taught me that something can feel so close without ever truly belonging to us.
And perhaps, ever since that day, I have never really loved the rain at all.
I have only been searching for your silhouette among the falling raindrops, hoping that someday the sky might return something to me that was never mine to begin with.
Because how could I ever stop loving something that made me fall in love on such an ordinary day?
That Wednesday.
The day the rain fell, and somehow, I found you within it.