When it Rains in LA

J; 33.

When it rains, I wonder if it is raining wherever you are. I wonder if we share any experiences in common. I manage to turn everything into you, and I always wonder if we have that same habit instilled into one another. I never know what you are doing because I know nothing about you, but these moments wash over me when I feel like it might be raining wherever you are. When the rain might make you think of me. A moment in whatever I am doing where I freeze, and it feels like I’ve chosen to walk out into the rain, already soaking wet. I’ll check the weather, but not for Los Angeles, because I can just look out the window here.

When it rains in LA, it feels like half the city is missing. This place is not made to handle the storm, yet that brings me comfort. It feels like I am not the only one missing half of myself when it is raining here. I told myself during summer’s heat that I could handle anything after you, even the rain. As the rain washes out half of this city, I realize I have always been vacant. When something is missing, emptiness lingers longer than just the rain.

I’d like to think it is raining wherever you are. I’d like to think you love the rain, that running to your car from the front step is exhilarating and not dreadful. That the rain is what makes your cup more than just half full. I fear you don’t even know it’s raining in LA right now. Tell me that you check the weather for LA. Tell me that you think about the weather in my city when you see rain. Tell me it is raining wherever you are because I want to share an experience with you. I want to have just one thing in common. So be it if that is only the weather.