Acid Raindrops

It was the kind of evening where my hands felt themselves playing the piano on my mug, furiously clenching the hot tea in an effort to drown myself in steam and contemplation.

It was supposed to be a cold January evening, but the soft summer rain that fell as silent paradoxes to the season changed all of that.

All of it.

That kind of shower pulls all of us back. At least in the warm months I could be prepared for such an onslaught of memories.

Lovely is leaving again in a few days. But he really never came home in the first place. I know that I shall once again find myself in an affair with the man in the stereo. The soft rustling of music sheets will blot me with the interstate lines that he is putting between us.

But tonight, the summer rain makes me glad.

Because if I can jump barefoot through puddles in the middle of winter, than anything is possible.
Especially moving on from this heathen of a first love.

This irony also pulls me back to when I was young, and I would dance everytime it rained if I was at my fathers. My father, who was a deadbeat. Who was such a brilliant man except for the responsibility flaw. Who made me feel the pit in my stomach wrenching of not being able to find a job.

And the summer rain makes me so damn scared to see unemployment again. My stepfather quit his job because it was slowly killing him. And my fear of uncertainty is there. And the drumming outside is pulling me back to that night in the kitchen. When it was raining. And all we had to eat was a half eaten box of Ritz crackers.

In all of these crazy raindrops, I can feel my heart crying to be dancing. Outside in the velvet water. With The Mad Scientist. And a new memory.

We don't give the weather enough credit.