Crying In The Rain

Posted: September 29, 2015 in Uncategorized

It’s raining outside.Again. Oh, how I love the rain! So i put on my shorts, sneakers and tattered T-shirt. Time to walk in the rain. I love walking in the rain: it cleanses me, it cools me down. Above all, it gives me time to think.

I step outside and picked a direction at random. I don’t mind getting lost. I long to get lost. The raindrops sizzle on my skin. I wish it rained in my life. Deep inside I’m drowning in the arid desert of regret. I cry dusty tears as walk, no rain in my soul….even my lacrimal glands are arid. My mind starts wondering the dark, dusty warrens of my heart and soul. Each thought raises grey ashes from the floors of my pockmarked heart. Did it ever rain here? Oh man, I can’t even remember. How did it all get to this? Never mind that now, I’m already here. Where is “here” again…..?…..

…..I don’t know. I wish I did. In the meantime, a dusty tear falls onto my rusty cheek. The rain wipes it away. I scream and bawl. The thunder drowns it all. Convenient it is, nobody will notice. They never can see through me. “I do my crying in the rain.” Just another Country Blues. I live the Blues. I know nothing else.

The rain stops and I turn back, retracing my steps. I jog a little to get rid of the weight i feel on my shoulders. Must I visit a shrink? I decide I don’t want to. I don’t have time for some fancy wordplay with some snobby, condescending dude on a couch. Soon it will be winter. Winter holds many truths: no bright (and beautiful) blooms to remind me of the ugliness inside. Just a vast white tarp of snow covering every surface. How I long for an eternal winter! Winter preaches of mortality and eternity at the same time.(sorry, i just can’t explain how)
Am I losing my grip? I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I’m just being introspective and creative. Is this story Fact or Fiction? Well, you better use your own discretion. “Fiction is the truth inside a lie,” that’s what he said. And he is Stephen King. I write in blood and tears, that’s all I know. Whose blood? Whose tears? It’s up to you to decide.

I dry myself, feeling cleansed. “Let the rain come down and wash away my tears,”I whistle the tune, suddenly reinvigorated.( though there is never a “new day”… the pain never stops)The last thought on my mind wrenches my heart as I lay on my bed: “Do the gods have a shoulder to cry on?” I wonder as another dry tear falls onto my wet cheek. Some questions are better left unanswered and some alleys unexplored. Sleep never comes on days like this…..but i close my eyes nonetheless….and all the skeletons and old demons come out to play. They always find me…..oh God, they always do.

@David Phiri 29/09/2015

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