Dear rain,



Before I came to the UK, everyone warned me about you. You know, it is a myth which still doesn’t want to go away, apparently.  It was supposed that here is almost always raining, when in fact, it’s just cloudy. You don’t want to appear too often, maybe just in Autumn.

You, you are travelling from the sky to get down on earth, you, in your journey here can’t stop playing hide and seek between the dust particles and then ending up in our souls. Don’t you worry! This isn’t at all a bad thing. At least, it isn’t for me. I am not afraid of you, au contraire, I adore you, especially in Summer. You seem, from my perspective the most playful, full of energy, an energy which if at least half of the individuals would have it, life would have been much more beautiful.

Only if you could speak… you could’ve told us, all humans, stories which only you can share, stories from above, where only rockets could reach, but only for less than a few seconds. You could tell us stories that would have melted our hearts, make us sad, make us happy, make us feel such a deep emotion. You have a kind touch for every story, as delicate as the ways in which you touch our cheeks.

I don’t know why people don’t like you. You always gave me inspiration, a hunger for writing, that melancholy (5 types of it) which not only fulfils ourselves with hope but with a desire to revive all our memories. With your every fall, you give us that power to start again, a force which allows us to disobey the future and make it more beautifully.

I mean, just hear yourself out!

But, maybe I know why people hate you that much: you lack colour. You are transparent and cold, because of the weather. I can glimpse the dull greyness which fiercely attacks our feelings and numbs our senses. I would love to see a colour in you, whatever colour. Colour means happiness, but your transparency only allows more and more sadness which encompasses all the curious faces walking on the street. They make sure that you don’t touch them, that you won’t create them in a walking melancholy. And yes, the streets are full of sad faces.

But maybe, if maybe, if you fell down on this Earth in colour, everything would have been different. Our hearts would have stop closing, as they fear you. We would without a doubt, await you! Await a colourful rain! I can just imagine myself: Oh! Look, a blue drop, a yellow one, a green one!…

And with that said, dear rain, please, could you, somehow, re-create yourself in colour? But until then, we will colour our lives as much as we can…

Yours sincerely,






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