The Eclipse of a Pluviophile

I woke up feeling shitty today.

So I took a shit first thing in the morning, injecting a sense of accomplishment.

A tiny euphoria before I started my day.

My tiny eyes were yet to fully open, partially glued by the crust, shadowed by my own gloom, which morphed my face into what looks like a hybrid of a panda and a sloth.

The gloomy rainy clouds were simply an imagination. A wishful thinking. A mirage that never came.

The rain turns my invisible tears into a camouflage.

The gray clouds are my extended free storage for grief, sorrow, and anxiety.

The thunders are the only hard love I want to hear, jolting my ear drums with their sweet symphony.

These holy trinity are the only ones who can understand me fully without explanation.

One might call me a pluviophile, someone who finds joy and peace on rainy days, but that would be a rude understatement.

You see, 

the gloom and doom of a gray day is the reason I could appreciate a rainbow.

It’s a way for the universe to let me know that someone listens.

A gift from above that matches perfectly with my sentimental being and dry throat from explaining and asking for someone.

They’re not trying to cheer me up.

They just simply be - a monotone hurls of heavy cloud getting rid of their piss as I flush my own with it.

They console me and envelop me with a damp cloak of heartbroken love, sadness, and contentment.

Just what I really needed this morning.

But no,

the shimmering golden hills of San Francisco was against me today.

As I finished my morning shit and flushed it, I could already see the warm blinding 7am sunshine.

Like an overly excited annoying chihuahua who was ready to greet me outside so extrovertly, with some sort of a Dutch hopping beat from The Sound of Music in the background.

The blue sky was so blue to the point where it’s the furthest away of feeling blue.

The puffy white clouds only exaggerated the perfectly dreadful sunny day, as if it’s trying to pick a literal fight with me.

And the glistening morning dew was not as wet as how I had hoped it would be.

No I don’t want to step outside to a perfect temperature, breathe the crisp ocean air, with birds chirping, squirrels landing on my hands, and bunnies hopping to my window. 

No it’s not a Snow White kind of day. It’s a slushy Black Ice kind of day.

The sunrise was way too early and the sunset was way too late, far from the verge of an apocalypse.

Like the time when the city turned red last year, or when Mount Tambora erupted covering the whole earth with its shit, marking a year without a summer.

The kind of shit that’s unflushable, and we were forced to match and adapt to its grief and sorrow.

I need that.

Because only then I could appreciate a day like today.

I’m done with summer solstice.

Let the monsoon moon eclipse quench my soul instead.