It rained today. And, God, I was so thankful for that. So happy. God. It rained.
And it is not like I haven’t seen rain or water for a decade and I’ve already passed the evanescence of my body because of scorching heat and I am some sort of desert dust now and it is not like I was thirsty to death and it is not like I am some stupid sort of mermaid that had traded her gorgeous teal hair and golden eyes for two stupid legs and desperately needed water pouring out of the sky because she’d realized the human prince is a mess and so is the human world and she wanted to take it all back. No.
I just prayed for rain. Because sun , so much sun, so much heat, so many burnt people and so much reddened skin and so many sunglasses and so much rush and such long days and so many things that smell like summer and pity -they all exhaust me. And then it rained. Heavily , like east and west had decided to break up right in the middle of the sky and take all the substance with them in opposite directions. Like the sky was colliding inside itself. Beautiful.
And the people, the stupid people, they were running, their bags clumsily put on their heads, as if they were afraid that their painted or white or braided hair will grow along with the rain, to the earth, in long and heavy and guilty strands that will wrap around them and drag them down, down, down. And I can’t understand people’s fear of rain, of water, of wind, of nature. I don’t understand what in this world could be wrong with having your hair messed by the wind or having a leaf caught in your braid or getting mud on your feet or green grass on your legs. I can’t comprehend how we lock ourselves in our oh-so-loved fortified castles of civilization and forget how to let the toxic air we exhale out of our fortresses and into the earth and into the braided bones of earth and rock.
And I don’t say this as a human being living in the woods in the company of deer and books (even if I wish I had). I say as a freaking human being.
And a pluviophile. Dendrophile. Nyctophile. Astrophile. Thalassophile. Photophile. Chionophile. (This is a whole enumeration of beautiful words and they might sound as weird as I feel overdosing this post with Latin related syllables.)
I like sunrises and bad weather and cold and light I love light sometimes when it is just as cold as me and not insistent and not wanting to read the whole of who I am.
But I hate sun. And warmth and heat and it rained today. It rained on me today and in the streets of the little town I was in, talking to my teacher about my essays and homework and how ink spills. And then, it was raining on the trees that are stationed on the ridiculously hollow avenue I waited my bus on. There was heat still lingering in the bus, tho, heat and dust, but there were few people and the windows were cold and it was raining.
I’m sure you don’t know what actually struck me and left me sad and in awe and made me write this. I was in my seat,in the bus, the one near the cold window, “The Master and Margarita” by Mikhail Bulgakov open on my knees and the bus was passing some fields on the way home because the village I live in is really nice and surrounded by fields and fields and a quite nice river and woods, and on that earth I could see beyond my cold window were sunflowers. Thousands of sunflowers and all were so disorientated and so lost because the sun had been swallowed up by my rain and I didn’t have the time to feel guilty for them – all of them were bathing in mesmerizing air with their petals facing the earth but I swear , for a second, I swear they seemed kids, kids morning a time not spent but wasted kids woken up after a deep and silent sleep kids of small light and fires. And I swear it was the saddest yellow thing I’ve ever seen.