I Used to Hate the Rain
I used to hate the rain; but now I can’t go out in the sunlight it has become my only release during the daytimes spent inside looking out. They think it could be genetic, or environmental, or pathogenic, but in my heart I know my allergy to the sun is due to my inability to see the world as bright anymore.
I used to love the sun; but now it is my enemy even the thought of it narrows my eyes and curls my lips into a sneer. When Leilah died I kept every one of her little picture books, but slowly, on looking through them, I had to give away any that had the sun in. Most children’s books, it turns out, have the sun in. I can only get through the first two lines of Insey Winsey Spider. I love it now when the rain comes along; I hate it when the sun comes to dry things out. To dry me out.
I used to sunbathe naked; but now I flame like a vampire if that burning globe touches even a single inch of me. When it rains I take off my clothes and walk around the garden. I love to be washed clean by the pouring out of the dark clouds. My outsides become cold and wet to match my insides. I become balanced. For that moment.