That’s what he said, throwing his cigarette buts to the floor and stomped on it, sighing for the umpteenth time as he looked up to the sky and it’s still dark and still raining. I said nothing, of course, just looking at him, all the while smiling.
“Like… it’s raining, it’s water falling from the sky and it’s wet and humid, and cold.” He sighed again and then looked at me, “Do you like it?”
“What?” I asked back, because truth be told, I hadn’t been listening to what he said, I was just looking at him. At his face, at those sad eyes and sharp jawline.
“Ah…” I nodded absentmindedly, “I… I don’t know. I used to like it like… when I was young, when I was twelve or something, maybe because I read way too much teenage romance novel and think that rain is kind of romantic.” I said. “But then, as I grow older, I don’t really think it’s romantic. It’s just rain, it’s water, and like you said, it’s wet and humid and cold. So… I don’t know. “
“I’m okay with rain when I’m home.” He lit up another ciggs and inhale the smokes.
Well, me too. I’m okay with rain as long as there’s roof above my head. But I said nothing, because for this particular moment I kind of like rain.
Because it made him stay
It’s been raining a lot these days, and I’m in a love-hate relationship with rain.