It was one of those nights
When the world felt paused.
The kind of mystique in the dark that’s not heavy,
but soft —
like velvet brushed against your cheek.
Streetlights flickered gold halos
onto wet asphalt,
and the air—
God, the air—
was cool, crisp,
smelling of soil and promise.
Petrichor.
That quiet perfume
The earth wears after the first kiss of rain.
I didn’t mean to go outside.
Not really.
But the window was open,
and the breeze whispered my name
like an old friend I hadn’t danced with in years.
So I stepped out, barefoot,
onto the slick stone steps.
The cold kissed my soles,
and the wind tugged gently
at the hem of my shirt
like a child asking to play.
And then—
rain.
Not loud.
Not a roar.
Just the softest fall—
like the sky was exhaling
after holding something in too long.
The first drop landed
on the bridge of my nose,
rolled down,
and mingled with the warmth of my skin.
Another.
Then dozens.
Then I was soaked
but somehow lighter.
I tilted my head back.
Let the rain find all the corners of me
I’d hidden away indoors—
behind walls,
behind screens,
behind “I’m fine.”
I laughed.
Alone, but not lonely.
The kind of laugh that rises
from somewhere deep,
where your younger self still lives barefoot
and unbothered.
The street was empty
except for puddles that caught the light
like tiny mirrors.
I spun,
arms out,
let my hair tangle in the wind.
Didn’t care.
Didn’t need to.
The sky above—cloud-heavy but kind.
The earth below—breathing through the rain.
And me—
somewhere in between,
alive in a way
that no to-do list
ever makes me feel.
My heart beat to the rhythm
of raindrops on leaves,
on rooftops,
on me.
And for those few soaked minutes,
it was just the sky,
the rain,
and the joy I’d almost forgotten I could feel
for no reason at all.
June, 2025
