during the deluge – kyiv
chirgy
We love the rain; we hate the rain. When we are fifteen we dream of kissing in the rain and when we are sad we wish it would rain so that we might go out in it to find what we seek: some strange synthesis with the atmosphere itself. We plan around the rain as if it is a rock in the middle of the road, as if avoiding it is as natural as not falling. We hide from it, revel in it, construct impediments against it, collect it so that we may drink. We love the rain; we hate the rain. We live in it; at least, for now.
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