I like rain. I like how it makes me feel. I like how I stand by the window & watch the world cave in & go dark, like two huge palms cupped & carefully placed together. I like the mist it leaves on my windowpane. And how I draw shit & write the names that mean the most to me. I like the sound it makes on my roof, like raw rice pouring. Like pins & needles. Like whispers. Like words. Other times, like war.

I like how it brings a flash of light with it. I like how that light makes me feel; like I can press pause & catch & place it in a glass jar, then hang it on my wall like decor. Or wrap it in dark wool & let it out when my world dims.

Back to rain.

I like how it gets into my head & has my eyes droop. I like how long I like to pretend I won’t sleep, then sit, then lie, then sleep. I like its scent which is just about the only thing that smells like itself. Rain. I like how it hits earth & releases a musk, like something you’d expect an old clay pot to have if broken.

I like rain & night, like I like crack & cigs. Like I like walks & vodka. Like I like Yoli & blankets. I like how it sips & litters into my dream. How every scene seems to have a little bit of it in them. Doesn’t even matter if it’s a nightmare.

But what I love the most is how it ends. How sometimes it peters out, slowly, like piss. Or how it ceases as sudden as a switch.

I like how the sun peeps out after it & washes the world in yellow, the color of curry. Or how, sometimes, it burnishes the atmosphere & has it till it is the color of steel.