Just like the curtains of water pouring down around him, his own life lacked the clarity of blue summer skies. For every puddle on the path alongside the river snaking through the city he could feel the absence of the strangers he wished he could have met. The brief seconds-lasting encounters always offered solace in spite of the anonymity. His socks were wet where the water had begun to soak through his shoes, so he stopped walking. A melancholy tune lamented a sorrowful existence within the dry sanctuary of his headphones. The music seemed to speak of the things his heart could not, perhaps because of its lack of words.
With his face turned up into the downpour he reached out, he reached out as if the act of doing so could somehow save him. The truth was that even if he could have grasped what he so desperately searched for, his reach just wasn’t long enough. A half-smile touched his lips but lost its way before it could take root.
“They say that everyone makes the same expression when they suffer. That we all respond the same way when a smile is ripped out of our hearts,” he whispered into the muted roar of the brewing storm. “Why is it that my heart continues to change, yet I cannot clear my skies of rain?”
He wished he could see what the past was hiding behind the blank sheets of the unwritten pages in the book that compiled his life. But he could no more see beyond those sheets than he could pull aside the sheets of falling water around him.
“Would my life be different, if I made different choices? Would my heart be warm like the summer, instead of freezing and trembling in pain?”
In an attempt to stop his clattering teeth he clamped his mouth shut with far too much left unsaid. It did not matter if there was no one there to listen. Regret coursed through him like ripples in a pond. His heart threw a new stone into that pond with every beat. Perhaps it was doing so because something had to change. Something had to disturbed the stagnant waters of his life, make it flow again before it destroyed him. All he asked for was a single ray of light piercing through the grey turmoil overhead.
“The earth and the sky keep reaching for each other but never do, two lovers separated by some cruel twist of fate. Forever traumatized by their closeness on every horizon,” he murmured and cupped his hands. “They are bound by the only thing that connects them, tears,” he continued as his hands were filled with countless drops. “Is that how souls are brought together?”
He lowered his head and looked into the water gathered in his hands. Opening his fingers he let the water fall to the ground. “I can smile, but I can’t do anything about the weather.”
In music he found some comfort, in pretending it understood. Drops trickled down his face, dripping off his chin. No one except for him would ever know if they were tears, or just the rain.