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The Rain
I drew in a shaky breath, inhaling the wet scented air that came with the grey rain falling around me. To an extent, I loved the rain. It was easy to sit on a wooden bench just outside of the park and let the series of drops roll down my face, washing away the salty tears that escaped my eyes. This was easy. When I cried in the rain, it was as if the skies were crying with me- feeling my pain, reading into my sorrows and losses as if they weren’t really mine to feel at all. I could hide for a moment, turn off my emotions and let the black sky feel them for me. This was easy.
The rain grew harder. I was drenched to the bone, but I didn’t move. I would stay here because if I left, someone would question me, bringing the memories flooding back even harder than this downpour that I was growing accustomed to. This was easy.
I lifted my head when I felt the rain die down abruptly, as if the sky had suddenly turned off its torrent. Above me, the black clouds parted, letting through a ray of sunlight that playfully danced in patches across the wet street. With my eyes set on the glistening pavement, I stood up from my bench, swallowing back the lump in my throat and beginning to walk down the grey stained sidewalk. My shoes left soggy footprints behind me that faded with the sun’s heat. I sighed to myself. This wasn’t easy anymore…
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Favorite Quote:
"Books are a uniquely portable magic." - Stephen King<br /> <br /> I love books, and I love technology, but I don't want to see the latter overwhelm the former. I just think books are meant to be pages you turn, not screens you scroll through.