Raindrops

“Rain will wash away everything, if you let it.”

How long until we start to clean up our own mess?

We were once an early morning sunshine,
the crack of dawn,
dewdrops on windshields.

We are now the aftermath of a hard day’s night,
a forgotten flashlight,
a lost voice.

Sometimes,
if we look close close enough,
we will find reflections of what we once were,
in the puddles we do not jump into anymore.
We will see ourselves happy there.
Happier than we’ve been
ever since we learnt
that puddle jumping was for toddlers only
and adults must not get their hands dirty.

And at that moment,
we will step aside,
let the ghosts of our happiness dance in the rain,
while we straighten creases on clothes
that still creak each time we try to step out of line.

Isn’t it funny,
how the rain can clear everything
but our cloudy vision of what was and should be?
Leaving us only with tiny droplets
that will drip down and evaporate
before we can learn to spell ‘happy’ again.

I wonder,
if it rained as often as the sun chose to rise,
would we change the way our days worked,
waking up to more rainbows than sunshine,
while blaring sirens of
“and the sun will find us all eventually”.

Maybe,
this is how we’ll learn to live longer,
less productive, but happier,
greeting each morning
drenched in forgiveness
with blank slates in eager palms
waiting for new beginnings
and isn’t that what mornings
were always meant to be about anyway?