The story of the rain

The rain pours and I watch it run down each balcony, hitting the cement surface of the walls and floors. On this lonesome, dull Wednesday afternoon, the only thing to watch from our window is the rainfall. And I wonder if this rain has its own story, its own secrets and lies. I wonder if someone has already unfolded the mystery of the rain. But even if there is no mystery, I will tell its story. I will tell my own version of this story.
But not today. Today I’m just a lonely watcher, one who’s tired of waiting. I’m not in the mood to dance to the rhythm of the rain.

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