He woke up this morning to the beautiful light sound of raindrops colliding with his window.
Almost seventeen years since he had first opened his eyes and what he loved most was the rain.
The early years had begun, and when it rained, he watched two raindrops race down the window. He got overly excited about it.
The time kept passing, and he started singing as the rain began to fall. A song so soft, that it matched the grey misty weather. It was so delicate, you’d be surprised how well it matched the appearance of the once-blue sky.
But now, he looks at the rain from two perspectives; the first being that of someone wanting to go out and dance, run or even slide just to get soaking wet, and feel alive. However, the second happens to be all the stress and sadness he has perhaps buried in his heart, to the point where he forgot about it. It was no ordinary agony. It was the sound of a helpless and exhausted soul wanting to get out.
The rain makes him happy, he couldn’t deny that, but it also brings out the sadness in him.