Rain on the window at 7:09,
Alarm clock crying for the fifth damn time,
Mama says, “You’ll miss the bus again,”
But the storm outside feels too romantic.
Uniform hanging beside the chair,
Grey skies tangled in my hair,
I kinda hate school in weather like this,
I kinda love it and I can’t explain it.
Twenty-five more minutes in bed,
Dreaming sunlight turning gold instead,
Agua on the glass, lágrimas too,
Summer rain making everything true.
Maybe six thousand years ago,
When the world was soft and slow,
The very first rain began like this —
Tiny drops and a sleepy wish.
Pioggia falling on the avenue,
Mineral water shining pale blue,
Somewhere far away the sunlight waits,
But this storm arrived too beautiful and late.
Classroom floors and wet white shoes,
First-ranked kid already reading the news,
Someone eating baby cabbage soup,
Someone sleeping through the homeroom rules.
Rainwater racing the subway lines,
Little rivers under neon signs,
I trace circles on my paper cup,
Trying not to fully wake up.
Thunder rolling soft and deep,
Like the sky forgot to sleep,
Maybe tears and rain are twins,
Both arrive without permission.
Maybe the first rain ever made
Some ancient kid want to stay in bed,
Clouds outside and dreams inside,
Still refusing to fully collide.
Buenos días, summer storm,
Nothing here feels fully born,
And somewhere behind the silver-grey sky,
The sun is taking its sweet slow time.
Mm...
Rain on the rooftop...
Rain in the coffee...
Rain in my eyes...
