Rainy Nights

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There's a kind of magic that comes with rainy days. It whispers enticingly, the urge to curl in bed with a blanket, to listen to its whispers as it empties the streets of regular passers-bys, lets you catch glimpses of the shadow figures you'd regularly miss in the bright sunlight, reminding you that there are worlds within worlds, and asking you to find some of that in yourself. The majesty of stillness in the presence of constant rainfall and taxi horns, the deep baying calls of busses as they continue their rhythmic looping, the cough of the ahjussi smoking under the eves, sounds so common you'd say they might as well not exist until you're suddenly faced with their absence. It isn't until then that you realize those moments fed your soul.

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