It's cinq minutes past onze and I am here, Sitting Indian-style on my vintage floral sheeted bed. I'd really much rather be somewhere, anywhere in this small-grand world, preferably laying down in a field of endless tall grass (song I'm momentarily listening to). It's a rainy Sunday night, and I just love it. 


I adore rainy days, and I love rainy nights. 
The thought of it just blows my mind--it's amazing, how drop after drop of heavenly water gradually makes its way from a dimensionless part of the sky unto our fleshed finger-tip reach. It's just so magical, and breath-taking.

The sound of rain, the smell of rain, the feel of rain.

Have you ever had a sort of melodramatic film-like moment? You know, the one where you stand in the middle of your front yard at midnight, face up to the moon-lit sky--
the palm of your hands stretched out as if reaching for the stars, and you just stand there for a while, with no worries and no thoughts.

Your mind is clear, and there is nothing too important or too necessary or too anything that could possibly interfere with the moment you're about to face.

The world gradually stops rotating, the ground beneath you becomes still, and there is no movement except for the down pouring rain and the rush of blood pulsing through your veins. It's in that moment--in that rare, precious, and fleeting moment, 
that you suddenly realize how alive you are.

The indescribable sensation of the rain sways you in and takes you over. You open your mouth to taste a few raindrops with the tip of your tongue, and it's a taste so unfamiliar, so rich, so exquisitely extraordinary.  This taste inspires you, and like a child at recess you start skipping around. Suddenly now, you find yourself dancing. And out of nowhere, you begin to cry. While crying, you begin to sing. After singing, you begin to laugh. A delirious moment in the rain. A delirious moment that you'll carry with you for the rest of your remaining days. Many things you'll forget, 
but never the night that you spent in company of the rain.

Many people dance in the rain, cry in the rain, sing their melancholy hearts out in the rain. Some kiss their most loved set of lips in the rain. Many people never will.

In personal empathy, I'm aware I may never get a trip to Barcelona, New York City, or Ukraine. Possibly, I'll never go to half the places I'd like to, or do many things I desire. Even with that said, I know that in the day of my last perspire, I'll renounce just as satisfied knowing that my body, mind, and soul had the opportunity to experience the true living beauty of the rain.