At an exact time, with a fixed minute and second, the rain fell. What a perfect timing, just when I needed to go to save myself another buck to stay insane. I was so going to be late, I was sure. But being late is not a suprising matter when it comes to me, I’m having a really bad time management since ever. Well, maybe I should learn from this rain. It came in the perfect timing, with a fixed minute and second. Great. What a perfect rain!
But, honestly, I’m not sure about the time, it’s not in the morning, not after nor before, it’s not in the afternoon nor evening, not after nor before. All I knew was, it was at the time I saw a butterfly and amazed of how agile it was to fly againts that perfect rain without getting wet.
Just like falling in love and falling out without getting hurt at all.
I’m not sure about the people around me, I saw no one but the air felt so dense and the space was over-occupied, by nothing else but the rain and the dying to come rainbow. Whatever it was, or whoever it was, I was sure that I wasn’t sure about everything around me but the perfect rain.
Just like trying to build a relationship, and imagining how great it is and being afraid that it’ll end before it begins.
To clarify, I’m not a blind color sufferer, but I can’t tell what color the rain was. It was dark, but shiny, it was covered by a dazzling shadow. I can’t count the color, well, it’s not something mathematics can help with. Maybe a poem, like this one, can help? The rain didn’t freeze me, it didn’t warm me either. It was temperatureless I must say, as if that vocabulary exists by any chance. By that logic,
should it be measured with something existed or should I invent something to measure it?
Yeah, such a perfect rain, that denies the grammatical rules. It’s countable, a rain that is not an abstraction. But I dare you it’s not a natural phenomenon also. The line like that, what can I say? It was a perfect rain. It smells like tulips and morning leaves, it sounds like anthem and children songs, it’s like a warrior and gunner, shooting bullet to kill the aridity on the earth. What a perfect rain, what a beautiful rain, I can’t excuse that it made me late to get my buck.
But such a perfect rain, really deserves my time,
and at such time, I won’t even bother to ask, “What was your name, rain?” You smiled and I was blown by a sweet tornado, such a perfect tornado.
So, should I write a poem about it too???