Where The Rain Falls

Sunny afternoons with chirping birds.

The hot sidewalk.

The loud music.

The sun so bright sometimes, all you saw was the burn.

You walk through dirt that turns to mud, and the grass finally seems greener on your side of the lawn,

and you seem to forget what it's like to be cold. 

The warm sensation on your skin and your heat damaged hair made that happen. 

You blame them.

They made you believe the wind on your back just the summer breeze creeping in;

but every step you take feels like a degree less.

Like somebody turned the music down.

Like the sky turned off.

The mist was there, but sometimes, an umbrella was enough.

You don’t love the drizzle but the sun will be back soon.

Eventually.

You know you should leave,

you should walk back home and lay down on your safe couch.

You hate being wet and it’s always misty,

but the sunshine’s worth it though, right?

But what happens when the wind blows the umbrella away?

What happens when you’re drenched?

You can’t control the weather, but you put yourself out there.

You created this situation.

There’s no point in the blame game;

your socks squish with every step and your favorite shirt is ruined,

nothing’s going to change that.

But now is the time when you wonder:

Was the warmth worth the cold?

Was the best enough for the worst?

You look around and you realize where you are.

Where it all started.

Where it always ends.

You’re where you find yourself twice and thrice again.

You’re where the rain falls.

And you know how it goes.

You’ll walk back home,

and you’ll lay down on your couch,

but eventually, you’ll want to be warm again.

So you’ll walk back out.

And there’s new music,

and new bird calls,

and your wet shoes will turn the ground to mud,

and you’ll stay,

even when it starts to get cold,

even when you’re all alone,

even when you’re not,

because you don’t know your way back home without the fog.