Oh they’re here again. I see the drops falling on the vines pregnant with plump grapes , on the trees bowing down with the weight of juicy fruits , on the flowers swaying merrily , on the grass that converts them into diamonds and on the earth that relishes every single drop. The window pane looks hazy with water flowing down it hurriedly , not wanting to wait anymore to reach it’s mother.
As I sit with my coffee , sipping it slowly , I think how would it feel to go out. Will the rain be able to hide my scars? Will it make it hazy like it makes the windowpane? Or would it hurt when the drops fall on places where there are still open wounds?
Or who knows nothing painful will happen , instead the rain will help transform every scar , every wound into silver blooms. Some older ones will fall down scattered around my feet. Such ostentatious decor it would be !