A Pluviophile’s Raw Confession

Author’s Note:

Unearthing a nine-year-old piece led me to repost part of its text to complement the photos, taken during my runs in the rain this quarantine.

Like little crystal pins, the rain poured the way I wished and visualized them to be.

As if to fully satisfy me, they gently touched my face, my outstretched arms at my sides, my open palms,  and my body as I allowed myself to be caressed by one of the natural phenomena.
They mingled with the sweat that had profusely come out of my pores due to hours of running and walking.
The contact was like a massage on my tired limbs relaxing even my inner being. I closed my eyes. Then, I boldly lifted my face meeting every pricky drop. I tasted the rain on my lips but was unsuccessful in quenching my thirst. The coldness of the water substituted the high temperature of my body. I could feel the heat slowly evaporating from it. My clothes became more drenched and clung to me as if they were my second skin.

The splendor of the moment did not stop me to let out a tune. It did not stop me to shout and give in to the overflowing joy! 


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