I whispered in the rain {part 1}

The rain flooded Banjarmasin this afternoon, drenching every inch of the ground and the rusted roofs of the house. Rain. In my eyes rain is a bridge of memories, bringing a million stories. Ah, unfortunately. The story that brought the rain was always beautiful. If it rains I will remember someone who can make me laugh the most, even for a long time I still remember the crisp joke. someone who understands me best. Never mind, do not talk to him again. I certainly will not be able to stop talking.

In the rain I often think of strange things. Even that is hard to guess even though. Takes me to a taboo imagination. I think of a fact that sounds impossible. Yes like now. I want to ask you just once. Why can I have so far been in love with you?

I always make you a topic in my stories with rain. My conversation with rain sometimes does not coincide with what I say. But, the rain always knows my lies. As if I could never manipulate my feelings about you. I never get tired of talking about something that is impossible. You. Someone far away. Unknown to its existence. this time I boasted again in the rain. and I assure you it suits my feelings.
.
.
.