In the two weeks of my preparing to leave North Carolina, the heavens had opened up and wept with me.
Perpetual tears rolled down my cheeks, that were always hidden by the rain that covered Asheville.
Rain that fell without remorse.
Rain had become the symbol of our breakup.
Today in Tampa, while we ran our errands and bought our groceries, the sky’s turned black, and the winds blew palm trees with full force.
We all stated the obvious.
Rain was soon to come. As soon as we pull in the driveway, plump drops of rain descend. I rush to the mailbox, bags in hand.
When women normally run for shelter, we smiled and laughed.
“The smell!” my bestfriend yelled over the beautiful sound of rain surrounding us, “Can you smell that, Annie? The smell of the rain!”
I was caught up in the moment.
That is the smell before the rain? That’s the so called petrichor, the scent of rain on dry earth?
We stood out there for a moment, “That smell,” I blurted out, “We don’t have that smell in North Carolina. That smell don’t even exist there.”
“Really? That’s funny.” She laughed as she proceeded to unlock the front door, and the air conditioned room hit our faces.
I spend the majority of the time going from window to window, watching the most beautiful rain take place.
The rain was literally easy on the eyes. It was calm and collected. It didnt feel like a punishment or a reminder of my heartache, but the perfect opportunity to play beautiful music and have long talks with my close friends.
Things are slowly changing.
Everything life is throwing at me is beautiful, sincere and breathtaking.