A Collection of Short Stories and Poems

Drops

Rain. That refreshing, nurturing substance that coats the sidewalks and caresses the waxy backs of leaves as they slide down the stem. A sensation that can pour over your body for so long that your fingers go numb and your skin turns a violet pink. Much like the ocean, the rain loves and also hates. It can pour down with such anger that your body shakes just from the howls that rumble under its powerful pounding against the earth.

It brings me to life, I think. I am soaked in a heavy sense of reality and it haunts my soul to such a degree that my body sometimes feels as though it's about to transcend itself. Why is that? Why is it that becoming weighed down is what makes me feel so free? Could it be the flow of water? How odd it is that we as humans feel so connected to water that the mere touch of it against my skin is what pushes me to be a better person. I don't know why water is such an integral part of being human. 

Have you ever met someone from Colorado? I have met a few people from Colorado, and one of their most desperate wishes is almost always to be able to see the ocean before they die. Perhaps seeing the ocean or kissing in the rain or watching the window in a storm is what makes us human -- the fact that we have such deep roots with everything that surrounds us, the places in which we are tied way back in our darkest roots. The fish that once adapted our bones, the amino acids that created our proteins, the bacteria that helped us to create our own energy, and the fish that helped us lift ourselves to breathe the air for the first time. The water is what ties us to the commonality between all that is living and all that has ever existed in this world.

How odd it is to be so many animals and still be so distinct. How many bones do we stand on as humans? How many bones have we caused to turn to dust when they would have flourished without us? Why is it that the rain brings me all of these thoughts? I suppose that, maybe, the rain brings these thoughts about because my soul really transcends my fleshy vessel. How truly odd it is to stand on these bones, soggy and damped from the rain dripping from my jacket.