I love when the rain comes, but I would hate to be outside for him. I much prefer being in this warm house, listening to the water pound against my windows and watching the grey cloud spit and whistle and sigh at everything he can reach. But he can't reach me because I'm sitting on my couch sipping Chai tea and the fact than I am in here and not out there makes this that much better.
Do I really love the rain? I don't think that can be true, because how can someone love something just to hate it, to mock it. It's like saying I love malaria, because I don't have it and other people do. Still, the way the rain fails to hit me as it tries to beat down my door a million times per second, it makes me feel like I've won. And he lost. Sometimes, I would rather laugh at the rain then smile with the sun.
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