The Color of a Rainy Day

THE STEADY DRUM of rain makes it hard to get up. I open the curtain; a dim morning light permeates my room.

My mind fills with uncertainty, the things I have to do today — the pressure I put on myself to do.

I do my best to dispel the thoughts, for they provide nothing but weight to a mind that’s meant to fly.

I get out of bed and open the balcony door to watch as the rain slides upon the neighboring roof. A wave of melancholy flows through me; it can be hard to face the world, no matter what it promises.

Am I lonely? I don’t think so, yet it’s hard to know.

I have my thoughts to keep me company. They’re mostly encouraging; they’re the foundation of what makes me happy to be me. But life is life and we’re tough on ourselves, and it can feel like there’s nobody who can really understand what’s it like in our mind, our heart, our soul.

It’s okay to feel down, to feel pressure, to accept it and face the day, regardless if the world is grey. That weight might vanish when we least expect it.

Color comes not only from what we can see, what we discern as a blue sky or green grass or the autumn colors of the changing leaves. The world is full of color — it comes as friendship.

It comes as love.

It comes in tears which stream from longing to understand the world. Color is a feeling, that which makes up our experience of living, the spectrum of existence which spans good and bad and what we feel when we don’t want to get up, or when everything just seems so good, so beautiful, so wonderfully alive.

I often wonder if I’m worth the things which make this life worth living, the things I hope to share — friendship, joy, love, the strength to savor where I am.

If you could only see how worth it you are; you mustn’t need to go out seeking. The universe will meet you where you stand. So feel it, give your best; face the somber rainy day.

The sound of rain is soothing as it falls upon the roof. I could sit and listen, not needing to do anything else. But the city calls, the day beckons, and my heart just hopes to answer.

I turn on my music, drift through the station, and watch the world go by in Namba. I dance through the street. The city lights breathe life into the sky.

The sun peeks through the evening clouds. Ain’t it beautiful, all of it, the times we feel low that make us want to quit? It’ll turn around my friend, it always does. The day goes on, the train flies by as people laugh and joke.

The world in different shades of light. The man reads the paper on the evening commute. Stylish young girls with bleached blonde hair smile as they chat beside him; I love it, just to be a part of something, anything, caught in the crosshairs of my own damn mind.

But then I look around. I love to look around. We’re all facing our own demons. That makes me feel like we’re in this thing together. The city’s dark — the alleyways and the depths of self, endlessly passing, eternally human. The city’s brilliant; it gleams, and sometimes I just need that energy to feel like me again.

I need to see that smile on the father’s face to realize what life is all about. He hangs with his kid, who smiles back and giggles. The embers in my heart reignite; they smolder and glisten and dim, but they never diminish.

I won’t let them. Life’s too important to waste with worry.

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