the day it stopped raining | midoriya izuku

01 | skyful tears

TOKYO
19°C
HEAVY RAIN

Rain.

What's the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the rain?

What about when you notice the tiny little specks of raindrops falling on your cheeks?

If it were a normal day, the first thing that comes to your mind is to cover your head with a bag big enough to shelter you temporarily as you make your way to the nearest bus stop, mall, store, station and anything that the roof covers—such small little significant like a simple shelter with benches can be the saviour to the sky's downfall for its humans.

If it were a normal day, you would stand still and stretch your lips upon the small gust of wind slightly brushing your cheeks as rain droplets hit your skin—because then you love the sound of rain. The smell of rain—a mix of metallic clouds and heaven's breath. The odd taste of rain slipping in your lips and rosy tongue. The passing rainclouds with glimpses of sunshine. A kind of rain when it's not too harsh or too short for your plans to be cancelled, or relieving your soul.

Rain symbolizes signified renewal, fertility and change.

Like watering over a vast field of withering flowers where the heavens haven't blessed them with its tears, watering it to bloom and shine for tourists and buzzing bees. Like the violent waves in a storm when raindrops are like hails and icy spikes to sailors and mermaids and strays—that, as the waves calm and the grey clouds parted—the sun speared its rays through and guide the ocean waters and its citizens.

Renewal and change—the rainbow appearing after a sunny rain.

And if these little phenomena were perceived by the eyes of Masuyo Haru, she would be thrilled—normal even. If she would ever be.

Because Masuyo Haru does not feel the rain—see the rain.

Her dolly skin could only feel less than a touch and she sees more than a sky. She was like a god(dess)—the lonely kind. She was the kind of being who is barely affected by mother nature's tears—the kind where she lets its tears soak her to the bone, embracing the sadness lingering in the clouds.

Her embrace was a sign of acceptance—accepting the fact that Masuyo Haru is a girl content with what life has been gifting her; a bolt of flickering lightning.

Because sitting there alone in a 25-storey apartment full of blank white walls and the luxurious interior was none other than Masuyo—a 19-year-old, independent young girl with a talent in the arts—but the darkness in her living room was blatant enough to remind her that it's just her and only her.

Alone.

Perhaps the peace was tranquil, but peace was never peace if there was a war going on in your mind—and that's exactly what the poor little girl is going through.

She was independent and free of bothered people—but oh—she is so, so lonely.

Outer space looms over her face, staring blankly at the high-rise windows displaying waterfalls from the hard rain. It looked like translucent slime dripping down the glass when it's just sobbing tears of the sky which was too weak to hold its heavy cloud. But Masuyo just stares at the window with empty eyes and empty nothings—because after all, there was no one to look at when all she looks at is the consequence of her pathetic life.

And maybe, yeah, that's true.

Because she doesn't need to cry. The sky can cry for her. And she lets it be because that's the only way to tell the world that she's not okay. That she thought she was happy when she's not. That it's okay not to be okay. That she cries through the sky because she can bring the rain down on fake people and fake happiness.