I hate storms.
I'm sick of too much downpour.
But that special rain in the middle of the night,
under the summer's midnight sky—
there’s something romantic about it.

I’d pull my hand out to feel the cool pour of water from the rooftop.
There’s something beautiful about walking barefoot on wet ground,
the clear puddles reflecting yellow streetlights.
There’s something pretty about raindrops on car windows,
cascading, racing against one another.

And then I wonder—if I cried under the rain,
bathed in the yellow glow of...