September 03, 2003

An open letter to the rain.

Dear Rain.

When you come, you make the sunshine go away. I like that about you because I don't have to squint. I remember on my 21st birthday in 19## I was at college and not having the best day but you were there. I had the radio on and this really pretty guitar piece by Vivaldi came on. I was so touched that you were able to coordinate your falling with that beautiful piece of music that I was forced to wipe a tear. My college roommates did make an attempt by serving me fuzzy navals later that day but their feeble effort to bring me joy paled in comparison.

I can only hope that on my birthday coming up that you decide to make another appearance. I own that piece of music now and it would be very simple to throw it in my CD player. I don't anticipate my birthday being any better than that one when I was 21.

I don't mean to be greedy, to squander you and I know you've been very generous lately, staying so long on this current visit and all but if you could just find it in your heart to hang out with me again a week from Saturday, I will be your best friend ever.

This big city doesn't seem so harsh when it looks like a black and white photo.


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