my dad used to sit on our back porch in the summer and just listen listen to the rain pounding

on the dry earth pouring over the world sometimes I would join him we would sit in silence and just listen I spend so much time listening that I’ve forgotten how to hear

days of barefoot running in the rain I’m still running to nowhere in particular I remember when I was younger carefree I used to go dancing in the rain singing and dancing and twirling when we’re young we dance just because we can

they say the rain is made from tears of angels I don’t think that’s true angels don’t have time to sit and mourn they say the rain is a new beginning, coming to wash away the earth’s dirt-packed sadness I don’t think that’s true either the rain that destroys houses and devastates land and ruins crops and washes away lives is the same rain that plays music for us to dance to the same rain my dad and I used to watch silently from the dusty old porch the rain doesn’t care it’s just recycled water dying over and over drop after drop it’s simple complex things tell us what makes them special simple things let us decide

life is so easy before we realize how hard it is we live quilted lives with patchwork days our memories are all we have, all we can take with us wherever we end up but it’s easy to forget about all that when I think about sitting watching the rain

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