I don't understand how anyone can love rainy days.

How do you appreciate the gloominess that comes as thunderclouds gather? As they block out the blue sky, garnering darkness that becomes so oppressive it weighs down on the trees, birds, edging in on everything, rushing towards the inevitable point: self.

The rain comes and the cold, the cold. Being caught in the rain is all fine and dandy, the feeling of submitting oneself to the elements. But in your four-walled apartment, when the chill enters the room and the flip the switch for the florescent light, while the rain is outside tapping on your window. The chaos outside, trees dancing in a wild frenzy, flowers tossed by the wind, the man-made landscape in a rebellious fit of vitality.

You, inside. Cold, and alone with your dry desk and an empty picture frame.

When it rains, the heavens part and shed life-giving sorrow to the land. But I feel more isolated, more alone. I can only sit at the window-ledge, knees tucked in, and gaze wistfully outside.

The cold, the cold. It oozes through your every pore and sets in your bones, reminding you that your body alone is not enough to keep you warm.