Dear Rain,
You walk beside me like an old friend, whispering secrets of forgotten streets. Each drop pulls me into your quiet rhythm, turning the city into a canvas where I am both painter and paint. I wander without direction, yet I know I'm going somewhere, perhaps nowhere, but your voice guides me, urging me to release the weight I carry.
This melancholy, once my burden, becomes my shield, and you wash over me, tending to old wounds. Beneath the grey clouds, hope lingers, fragile but real, like light after a storm. Maybe I'm not aimless. Perhaps I'm gathering lost pieces of myself scattered across the wet streets. In the silence between thunder, I feel it. Growth, slow but certain.
The world may feel heavy, but I know you, Rain, will carry me through. Step by step, through sorrow and song, I’ll find that this wandering has been my way of healing, becoming more than I thought possible.
I'll find my rainbow, thanks to you, Rain.
Yours,
A Flâneuse of the Storm 7 replies
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