rain

The rain beat on his head, and begged for some place to stay. The hollow can adamently protested, as the harsh knocking forced his head to fall more and more tightly onto his body. He rocked his being to the water's lonely and yearning rhythm. Obesely rectangular, and altogether grayish, he was content with his own company, and dismissed the unwelcome precipitation, which always harrassed him and wished to share the gloomy days with him. Witnessing the scene, and not wanting to interfere, I soothed my senses in the steady dripping of rainfall. I never liked the rain, until I learned to relax myself in its presence, sink in its consistency, bathe my limbs in nature's emotions that weren't always so dissimilar to my own. I became what I felt, even next to glass on which she would beat and play and entice me to come outside and be. I used to be an old grayish garbage can, empty and stubborn and utilitarian and limited by myself. Now I embrace my existence, for every living thing needs the rain to survive and today I felt the rain and thought and felt and sensed and sensed.