The rapidly falling rain pitter-pattered across the pavement, gleaming in the moonlight like forsaken little diamonds. These drops freed heat from the concrete on which they fell, releasing steam into the humid summer air, and shattered into bits of glass. Tonight, he celebrated the death of a million drops of rain. These insignificant little creatures held within them a restless ecstasy, a faraway dream for those struggling under the weight of this world. To struggle, to strain, break away and dance in the rain. A fantasia gazing at you on the horizon, undeniably beautiful but always out of reach.

Little drops of rain, don’t be sad. For there is always the possibility of another tomorrow, of a bright light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel of darkness. Just keep pressing on, just keep pressing on.

Don’t give up, little drops of rain. Keep marching on. Don’t die, little drops of rain. There’s no need for all of this dancing. Stay inside, little drops of rain. Tomorrow will be a brighter day.

Stop that, little drops of rain. Stop being so silly. Stay inside, little drops of rain. Tomorrow will be a brighter day.

Little drops of rain, it’s okay.

The dry spells aren’t so sane

So dance, little drops of rain. Dance your little hearts out. Drizzle on beyond the horizon.  

Fall like tiny diamonds onto the pavement. Shatter, like glass, and scatter.
Dance to your death, in a moment of pure ecstasy, revel in your beauty, and be free.

That bright light, that shining glimpse of hope held in the balance, slowly tipping over the edge of the world, might just be yours someday.

A river of smoke weaves its way through the rain. A solemn figure walks on, running one hand through the soaking wet hair upon his head. The other holds a dying cigarette, rain dowsing the lit end with water. Smoke rises into the atmosphere, twisting and twirling between glittering diamonds. The elements had not been kind to this man’s jacket, drenching the worn-out leather with rain and sunlight. The man does not speak, just gazes into the faraway distance, smoke trailing out into the air in front of him. The falling rain increases its intensity, dousing his jeans and gathering in beads upon his eyelashes. It blinds him momentarily, but he wipes it away with a stroke of his fingers. The wind howls, and the sound of thunder resounds all around him. Yet the man stands steady, his gaze staring at something he cannot see, never wavering. Surely the elements can do nothing against such a man, his strong back a silhouette against the lightning that beamed overhead?

Another flash of light, a roll of thunder, and the man turns and retreats into the darkness, back from whence he came. The world weighed down upon his shoulders, the dark rims under his eyes become more evident than before. The spark in his eyes disappears as he trods onwards, head down, braced against the roar of the elements.

Little drops of rain, perhaps tomorrow will be a brighter day.