“Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain”
– Anonymous.
Rain poured down endlessly this morning, soaking everything, including me, my breakfast and my rusty bicycle. A great way to start a morning if you ask me, it made you feel alive, like a brush accent that completed a painting.
After changing to my usual tee, I leisurely take out the small rattan armchair. I slug my back, trying to improvise with its firm measurement while my hands, as if had mind of their own, reaching for the nearest pack, gently put one between my lips, and covered them as the other hand light it.
I savor the rain.
According to my landlady, that armchair was left here for some particular reason. She once said that the chair is cursed, that anyone bold enough to sleep in that chair were never to wake up from it again. She oftenly cited that his dearest husband were one of its victim. If I had a pint for every breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a constant meeting with a heart surgeon, I might just fall asleep anywhere and not waking up from it anymore.
Familiar ringing had thrown me back to my rain-savoring. It’s her, I guess, since I only accept text messages from a limited list of human beings. My parents are long from gone since their divoce twenty-something years ago and I couldn’t remember the last time I had anything connected to them. My so-called friends only texts me when they’re in a pinch or similar situations. There’s only a handful colleagues that contacted me for advice or work-related matters.
And her.
How are you today?
Wet. I texted her back.
You must be enjoying your silly rain right now, are you?
Rain isn’t silly, your silence is. Sent.
And I waited for like five minutes or so, but there was no reply.
