When it rains, I subconsciously look outside my window, and stare for a long time. No one does that when it’s sunny. Perhaps it is because I love the inconsistent drops of rain, the wild way each drop of water flows whenever the wind howls. Maybe it’s because I love how it always pours in a different direction every time. Maybe it’s because, when I look up, I don’t see that thin line between air and water, and it makes me ponder on how it is possible for liquid to form a teardrop shape, and why it can’t be the shape of a perfect circle, or oval. Or maybe, it is, and I don’t see it.
With rain comes the endless possibilities – of just how cold, of how heavy, of the presence of thunder and lightning, of what sound it will make when it reaches the ground. With rain comes inconsistency, and the hope that, if something as imperfect as rain can look beautiful, then perhaps, one day, so can I.