The raindrops today were normal-sized.
They weren’t fine like the morning mist
Nor blotchy like an impressionist painting.
They were like prints of small fingers that kept touching the windshield lightly
Over and over again.
The rain isn’t poetic today.
They made the grey buildings blander
And the pollution like a disorientingly thick film.
Looking at everything made me want to peel my eyes
In hopes that the colors would emerge.
I sat like that for a while,
Trying to explain how the weather felt.
How it muted everything and made
Bright colors look even sadder than the other ones,
but there’s nothing quite like it.
The Interesting Parts 