It will rain tonight. Through my window, which overlooks Puget Sound, city lights reflect murky and dull on the undersides of the newly arrived clouds.
Somehow I have become someone who loves rain, and I used to only love the sun. Maybe it was that boyfriend a long time ago who stood on the inside of my parent’s sliding glass door and proclaimed that he hated the rain that made me hate the rain. He was from Southern California, the desert. I pretended to love what he loved and hate what he hated, shrouding my true self in his personality. When I moved down to Southern California to work on a hotshot crew I pretended I loved the endless sun, or maybe I convinced myself so I wouldn’t have to pretend, or maybe I did love the constant light and warmth, the blandness and predictability of it, like the rain, but drier, brighter. The rain and darkness sent me into myself, an impossible place to be for me back then. Back then I was not sure what I loved, but I was sure of what I was supposed …
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