There’s something about rain that feels… personal. 🌧️💭
Like it remembers things we’ve forgotten.
Like it’s been watching us from above, silently collecting our quiet tears, our wishes, our hidden sadness.
When it rains, I don’t rush.
I let it touch my skin.
I let it speak.
Because rain doesn’t shout — it whispers.
And sometimes, those whispers are what we need the most. 🫣🩵
Some days, the world feels too loud.
Too many voices, too many expectations.
But rain... slows everything down.
It softens the edges of the day.
It gives us permission to pause. ☁️⏸️
I remember sitting by the window,
watching raindrops race each other on the glass,
and thinking: “Why does this feel like home?”
Maybe because rain doesn’t expect anything from us.
We don’t have to be happy, or strong, or ready.
We can just be — messy, tired, vulnerable.
And the rain stays. ☔️🤍
It’s like an old friend who doesn’t need explanations.
A gentle rhythm that says, “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
And in a world where we always have to explain ourselves…
that’s rare.
That’s healing. 🩵🌧️
Rain has been with me in heartbreak,
in joy,
in silence.
It’s fallen on my skin when I was lost,
and when I was finding myself again.
It washes away the masks.
It asks nothing in return.
And maybe… just maybe…
it knows exactly who I am. 🌧️💫
So when the clouds gather,
and people run for cover —
I stay.
Because for me, the rain is not just weather.
It’s a feeling.
It’s a memory.
It’s a quiet kind of love. 🤍🌧️