Am I the rain?
I went to bed with clear skies but woke up to a storm. It was unexpected, but somewhat calming. It felt like the weather could relate to all the chaos going on in my head and chest. Or is it that i could relate to it?
Whichever it is, I could say I found a friend in her, albeit for a short while.
Sometimes I can’t decide if I like the rain. On one hand, it has this soothing atmosphere it brings. It sort of wraps around you like a warm blanket. The comfort of being understood. The lightning and the thunder reminds me of the deafening sound of my thoughts waging war with one another. Each day, a new battle line is drawn.
Who’s going to win? I wonder.
But wait.
The rain... the chaos... it lasts only for a while, before the clear skies begin to shine through. And then maybe even a rainbow too?
“Does it signify some sort of hope?” I begin to think. A calm end to this seemingly never ending turmoil? Am I the rain? Could I hope to be?
Shall I dare to?
Oh, how ideal it would be. But it doesn’t rain every day, does it? So how could I be the rain?
Would that not be somewhat a fool’s errand? To hope. The rain... it knows when to start and when to stop... when to slow down. And although It may seem like a random reoccurring state of bedlam, you can’t deny that there’s still some form of order in all of it.
It is likened to an oxymoron — an organized chaos.
There is control in the core of its design, something which I believe I lack.
I am not the rain.
So what now? What happens now that the rain has stopped and my thoughts has refused to make peace? Where do I find solace? Once again, the blanket has been ripped off and I’m left alone with a dark mind and bright skies. Why do I even bother?
But then they say half a loaf is better than none, right?
Right?
Deep down inside, I know.
I know that I’m clinging on to things, so fickle. But I never could seem to stop, and can you blame me? I’m just another person, trying to survive like every body else, in the ways that I know how. Let me be.
And before i forget, on the other hand, I’d just like my clothes to fucking dry.
