I know this is such a cliché... But you can't say you don't feel that way on a cool rainy day.
It's when everything from tiny tree branches to protruding plastic pipes decide to spray you with some chill refreshing water. It's when, as if on purpose, they play these chirpy love songs on the radio; and your heart sings along. It's when Bajjis become all the more heavenly. It's when your fingers become ice cold, and to warm them you squeeze them into a friend's palm. It's when window seats in all the buses are left empty because they're damp. It's when you don't sweat a drop and yet you're wet anyway. It's when terraces become more inviting and garages more warm. It's when there's a earthy smelling layer of mildew on wooden school desks. It's when all the trees on the road look like little kids just out of a bath and it's when little kids look like tramplings from all the puddle jumping. It's when your window sill is full of crows drying themselves. It's when you think of homeless people. It's when you run outside to get the clothes you forgot about. It's when the city feels fresh, the homeless cars feel washed, the subways feel full and the the beach feels clean. The beach. Good lord, the beach. The sea seems so wild, as if it can't wait to come invade the shore; the boats seem to toss uncontrollably on those waves...
The rain is the best thing to happen to you. It's also the worst thing to happen to you. Especially if you have to sit with your back to a window with a view writing a silly exam. It doesn't let you concentrate. You dream with the pen in your hand, your mind throws some memories at you, and then you feel the need to just write this post down. In a french exam. What do you do then?
It's when everything from tiny tree branches to protruding plastic pipes decide to spray you with some chill refreshing water. It's when, as if on purpose, they play these chirpy love songs on the radio; and your heart sings along. It's when Bajjis become all the more heavenly. It's when your fingers become ice cold, and to warm them you squeeze them into a friend's palm. It's when window seats in all the buses are left empty because they're damp. It's when you don't sweat a drop and yet you're wet anyway. It's when terraces become more inviting and garages more warm. It's when there's a earthy smelling layer of mildew on wooden school desks. It's when all the trees on the road look like little kids just out of a bath and it's when little kids look like tramplings from all the puddle jumping. It's when your window sill is full of crows drying themselves. It's when you think of homeless people. It's when you run outside to get the clothes you forgot about. It's when the city feels fresh, the homeless cars feel washed, the subways feel full and the the beach feels clean. The beach. Good lord, the beach. The sea seems so wild, as if it can't wait to come invade the shore; the boats seem to toss uncontrollably on those waves...
The rain is the best thing to happen to you. It's also the worst thing to happen to you. Especially if you have to sit with your back to a window with a view writing a silly exam. It doesn't let you concentrate. You dream with the pen in your hand, your mind throws some memories at you, and then you feel the need to just write this post down. In a french exam. What do you do then?
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