The man and the woman sat and looked at the rain. “There are so many different types of rain,” the woman said. 

“Not really,” the man replied. “This is just rain.”

“It’s never just rain. You see, there’s the kind that mourns with you at funerals and pours when your heart aches. The type of rain that taps at your window and is the crash of lighting during the scariest point in a movie. There’s the type of rain you confess your love in. The type of rain that sings you to sleep on restless nights. The type of rain that engages your mind and impels you to work hard and to study better. 

The type of rain that falls when you have just said, ‘things can’t get worse.’ The type of rain that washes over on a sunny morning and leaves a rainbow to remind you that things get better. The type of rain you can dance in and feel as though you have been reborn.” 

The woman stopped to catch her breath. “You see, there is no such thing as just rain.” She looked into the sky and watched the rain fall. 

The man took his time to respond, perhaps associating each type of rain with a memory he owned. “What type of rain is this?” 

The woman did not answer. Instead, she continued to look at the rain.

–WP–

(Published January 2021)