I wiped condensation from the stopped bus’s window and peered out. A road, stretching with lawns and trees which hid the houses, was before me. We where in the fanciest part of town and I always wondered what life was like for the people in those homes.
I pressed my head to the damp, cold glass. The voices of the comedy podcast I was listening to chatting away in my headphones. My thoughts were far away, picturing posh rooms and furniture that were more Victorian and Edwardian in nature then modern.
One day, I told myself, I’d live in one of those houses.
All I want to do today is sit by the window and watch the rain falling outside. I want to listen to the patter of the drops as they hit the roof tops, cars, road and plants. Each sound to it’s own, but all together forming a rhythm that raises above all noise. I want to see the raindrops tumbling from leaves and dripping off. The motion so smooth that it captivates me and my eyes can not turn away. Upon the ground, the rain becomes one again like it was in the clouds. Forming stretching puddles of water that reflect the world. I witness the death of so many raindrops that I feel saddened, but in my soul I know they will soon come again.