believe me when i say it was miserable, but also believe me when i say i loved it.
i’m a mess. i love walking in the rain on my own.
in my garden in indonesia i used to sit in the tropical rain, raining. that makes a painful view for the people who love me, but when they’ve loved me better they’d leave me alone.
the rain is my sacred place since my childhood. there’s something about being alone with the rain that makes me so in touch with the exiled feelings inside me.
those that do not suit the dry days reality, or the reality at all, or so it seems.
those that make me alive, exist, brokenly whole.