He thought me to hear the rain. Before I could only feel it, falling from above and combining with the little makeup I wear and dampening my clothes. I could hear it stamping on the roofs of the places I would be busying myself in, but still my mind would make it a noise in the background, giving no attention to even the aftermath, the loud drip drops from the houses drain. I didn’t allow my ears to listen. Now I place a pillow on my windowsill, open my lower window wide. I feel the wind pass over me. I let the breeze control the loose strands of my hair. And I listen to the rain. I hear the cars drive over the puddles in the distance and the running of the very odd passer by trying desperately to cover their body’s from the wetness that the thick black clouds so generously share with us. These buttoned up speed walkers amuse me, particularly the lucky rain droplets that land on ones nose clenching on to the tip, its life is short lived and then it drops to be with the others beneath, I wonder if it was ready to be connected with them.
I always find it difficult, more like frustrating when trying to title something i have wrote. Always. So, i apologies, i’m sure “just a paragraph” wasn’t very appealing. ](https://www.ilovephilosophy.com/uploads/default/original/2X/7/7c349bf1053f368a5729d053e1e91215f22ce66c.gif "Brick wall"){kind=small}