But Will It Rain?

It's a lovely April day. The trees and foliage are alive with bursts of red and pink, their leaves a stark contrast of electric green against an uneasy sky. Is it going to rain? Heavy grey clouds move in a coordinated dance across a blue backdrop, a reminder that life can somehow contain the dark, grey and ugly even as it holds the beauty and clarity of an unbroken sky, sometimes in the same day.

Well, it's another coffee shop. Another big room filled with rickety tables and overpriced and over-roasted caffeinated beverages that somehow make me feel like I am satisfying the inexplicable thirst that never really goes away, though if I sip on an iced latte with just enough nuttiness, maybe I can forget about it for a moment. My faux-leather bound journal is next to me with it's creamy, slightly yellow pages just begging for me to drag black ink across it in a series of lines and curves that will miraculously communicate a message or personal sentiment when I add a period or a question mark at the end. I will fill a few pages with the ramblings of my inner world , and I will act like it is a new thing - a new experience, a new idea, a new thought, but it will really just be the same existential reality, dread, question, and demand just written a little differently and perhaps a little more haphazardly.

I will look around the room, gazing at unfamiliar faces that somehow feel familiar. A couple will look into each other's eyes like they have discovered the very piece that will complete the puzzle they have been putting together for the duration of their lives even though five years from now, they will sit at the same table arguing about money or who is going to pick up the kids when the new job comes through and completely forget that for one moment, long ago, they sat here basking in the wonder and awe of having felt understood and known, unafraid of what the future might hold. A man will type away at his laptop, checking his Apple Watch every few minutes for some email or message that will undoubtedly collapse his entire existence into disarray and chaos, though honestly, he secretly hopes and pines away for that exact moment, because somehow the horrible drama of it all will make him feel alive. A barista will tousle his hair in the shimmery reflection of espresso machine, because it is necessary for his hair to look disheveled and slightly undone, but only in a way that looks natural and unforced, which of course, requires extensive effort on his part.

And I will sit here. Looking out at the bustle of humans walking their children and their dogs and their spouses to some wonderful, mysterious destination that I will assume is better than the one I headed toward. Because after all, this is just a different version of the same day I have always lived - I may change slightly... become more or less cynical depending on the environmental circumstances, or I may have more money to spend on pricier coffee because I decided to budget that month, or I may be worried about some terrible meeting that most likely be far less drastic than I thought it would be... but it feels like the same story. Over and over.

But will it rain? I don't know. That is one thing I can't say for sure. It definitely looks like it just might, but honestly, it could go either way at this point.