Rain

Rain takes us to another level of reality, but every stroke of the windshield wiper brings us back. “Turn it off”, I whisper, “I don’t want to go back.” Rain fades boundaries, objects lose their identities and expand in an effort to become others, like if all of a sudden Life had became a painting out of Monet’s mind. If Life was anything like a Monet painting, I think, maybe I could cross the walls of flesh between us and finally get to you and your thoughts. You curse when a deer jumps in front of us and don’t say a word when it runs away and disappears in the forest. I wonder where it’ll go. Stop! I want to go after it. I want to live in the forest and eat grass and fruits fallen from the trees. When I feel cold, I will look for the company of my fellow deer, and every time I hear the slightest noise I’ll jump and disappear between branches and leaves. Your eyes on the road make me feel almost safe. Raindrops sliding down the windshield make me think that anyone who looked at us right now would have a hard time deciding if it’s me or if it's the glass who is crying.