I woke up to a dead cellphone battery, an electricity-deprived home, and a conscience telling me that I had to know if classes were on because I was beadle and it was my duty to tell my English blockmates the status of the school. After much mental debate, I decided it was best to go to school and to make sure that classes were really suspended. When I confirmed this rumor, I got back on a jeep, went to McDo hoping for internet, saw that every establishment had had its electricity cut off, went home and slept the deprivation away.
Anyway, I made a rather "offline" entry before I slept. Here it goes: a quick disclaimer, though; I do not like the rain much.
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It’s raining again.
I don’t think I’ve ever told you this before — heaven knows I never tell you anything because you know what I feel even before I say it out loud, but the rain reminds me of you. The way it comes in times I need it most, the way its gentle pitter-patter on the facets of the roof becomes a metaphor for the times you gently - if at all - knock me on my head and tell me to be happier, the way it sounds like a thunderous applause from heaven yet soothes every frazzled nerves my body is harvesting on.
Yes, the rain reminds me of you. I guess that’s why I can never command my body to cease thinking of you; after all, it rains every time.
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Raindrops, however, never cease to fascinate me.
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