I dislike this kind of weather. It’s so wet and dirty and inconvenient. But there was a time when I was so innocently happy that I found nothing wrong with it. There was a time when I was so fresh and young I didn’t mind getting wet under the rain. This is written long ago (seven years ago, perhaps). Re-posting is a way to remember my old self.
Isn’t it sweet to have a few drops of rain on your cheeks?
Isn’t it beautiful to hear leaves rustling in the wind?
Isn’t it delightful to sense the breezes caressing your cheeks, teasing your eyes, slipping through your hair?
Isn’t it amazing to feel you are not at all alone without anyone around?
Isn’t it pleasing to be so annoyingly but kindly wakened up, so warmly welcomed, even so violently loved?
It’s like everything is moving. Trees are swaying. Wind is blowing. Rain is falling. People are changing. I am changing
You know, I like this weather, even when it rains. Even when the rain leaves dirt on my shoes. Even when it makes things inconvenient for me. It doesn’t matter much. Because it is just the way it should be.