When it Rains…

I live for the days when the sky turns gray and moisture grows in the air. My hair starts to frizz a bit and the scent of rain trickles in unexpectedly. Now that I live in a city so close to the sun that it breaks through the clouds, I miss the rainy days. I secretly hope and wish for them. When the clouds occasionally roll into the Rockies, I pray they stay, but more times than not, they don’t. Is it better to romanticize or be realistic? My favorite days are the ones when the rain comes out of nowhere. The sidewalks are filled until the darkness rolls in. People slowly disappear. They take cover under awnings or inside dimly lit buildings. The few left on the street take out their umbrellas, shielding them as they carry on with their day. Droplets turn into bulbous spheres, crescendoing onto the pavement. They billow and collect, colliding into one another, pouring down the canvas umbrellas in front of me. I turn my face towards the sky and let them fall. My previous perfectly manicured and uniform curls from the flatiron slowly release and transform into a cacophony of rugged sporadic and frizzy waves, twisting in all different directions. No rhyme or reason. No pattern to follow. Perfectly imperfect. The curls that I used to hide every day become even more defined with the natural moisture. The heaven’s tears make them look their best – kissed by the angels, breathing new life and bounce into them. The chilled air fills my lungs as I continue through the storm, absorbing each drop on my skin and clearing my chest. A weight feels lifted. The deepest breath I’ve taken in a long time. Am I being ignorant? Soaking in the moisture and embracing the rain? I have the potential to get sick. It’s not practical. My clothes are damp. My hair is dripping. My nose starts to run. When they ask why I choose to walk in the rain, I say “because eventually you will dry”. A new version of yourself revealed. Your truest self. Frizz and all. So, to me, it’s worth romanticizing the rain.