The birds are chirping.

The sky a perfect shade of after-rain gray.

It’s the type of day that takes your breath away

without even trying,

without even asking to be seen.

A perfect day for writing.

A perfect day for subtle dreams,

and seeing yourself in beautiful things;

Like falling leaves,

like raindrops —

like the train stop

when the sliding doors opened to reveal you.

Our hearts broken,

but our love still true.


I digress.

There are things I should think about less,

but I don’t try too.

There are Mornings when the sky is not blue,

but it is still beautiful.

It’s imperfections

taking my breath away.


That’s the difference.


Some people look at variance

like a stain,

instead of a masterpiece.


Some people want you to be plain.

They want you to live in a world where the sky is blue every day.

They want you to live in a world where everything begs to be seen,

a place where all things seek attention,

a place where nothing is felt too deeply

out of fear of imperfection

and rejection.


Who would write? How unauthentic would our masterpieces be?

Would I still be able to find myself in imperfect things,

like trees,

like the very ground beneath me,

like the sorrows of other people?

Would there be empathy?

Would there be art or creativity?


— A world without rain is a

world I do not wish to know.


© Siera Carpenter



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