It was only in the winter that I missed the rain.
The whole world saw crisp springs, sharp summers, and weary winters, but not everyone experienced the romance of the rains.
I closed my eyes and shuffled rain sounds on my phone, willing my mind to take me away to a paradise that I knew only existed within my dreams.
It didn’t work.
I craved for the day last year, the day the downpour wouldn’t stop,
The day I walked around the city, soaked to the bone as I wondered why anybody would find comfort in the rain.
It didn’t strike me then, but it irks me now; how we only realize the value of things, of moments, once they’re gone.
Like the homely scent of wet mud, the colourful landscape of oversized umbrellas, and the non-existent hum of a dramatic soundtrack playing in the background.
I crave sitting by the ocean shore, taking in the vastness of the sea at a time when nobody did so.
I reminisce about meeting a stranger who felt the same way I did, as we spoke for hours and hours, till the gloomy grey skies turned black in the dead of the night.
I get nostalgic about the feeling of hope, of happiness, of love, as I watched him disappear into the dark nothingness, knowing very well I won’t be meeting him again anytime soon.
It’s 2023. I did get his name and his number.
But it’s 2023. I obviously didn’t do anything about it.
There’s just a fond memory I have of the day the downpour wouldn’t stop.
To the rest of the world, there’s nothing I could dread more.
But to me, there’s nothing I could crave more right now.
(Picture credits: Pexels)
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