I don't think I can get used to the rain again.

It's as if I was walking down the road in the rain. A dark, muddy road.  At first, it was extremely difficult. I hated the water and I would trip all over. I stumbled almost every day.  I was soaking wet. The water hitting my face from falling so hard, hurt. My clothes were heavy. It didn't  even matter if I stopped walking, walked slowly or even tried to run. I couldn't shake the cold, wetness.  I was drenched to the core. My pant legs were caked with mud and my shoes hadn't been dry for who know's how long.  I guess I did this for years. I eventually became one with the rain. I no longer cared and it was just a facet of life. I was used to it. I expected it. I started to learn how to cope. How to take my mind off the hurt. How to forget how miserable I was.  Once you do something long enough, you forget how things used to be I suppose.

Then, out of nowhere, someone looked at me and said " Hey you, come on in here .." and beckoned me to a warm cottage. I must have looked terrible. I can't imagine what they were thinking. Hesitantly though, I made my way inside. I didn't know what to do next because it was such a drastic change. It took a while for me to get dry.  It was foreign almost. I forgot what it was like to be dry. I hadn't experienced this for so long, that at first, I was shy. Almost timid.  I forgot what it was like to feel the warmth. I no longer heard the loud thuds of raindrops on my head or face. It was peaceful.   I felt different. I saw reds, oranges, and yellows instead of blues, blacks, and grays. I felt the hot fire, not cold water.  And it didn't matter if I sat down or walked around ... I felt good.  I loved it.

I didn't know how long it was going to last. It terrified me to think of going back outside again. I never wanted to lose that warm feeling again...

Then, abruptly I was outside again. My warm, dry clothes became wetter and wetter by the moment. I became so wet, it was as if someone had thrown me into a dark lake. I had been so used to the warm that this time the cold stung fiercer than before. It hurt everything. It was cold, bitter and unrelenting.  I cried because of the pain. Oh, how I longed for the cottage. What I would do to go back.  So I did. I knocked. Not once... but three times with no reply. I even waited. I thought that I could wait for the lights to turn back on. I looked but saw no fire lit.  I saw no beautiful bright colors. I saw nothing. I heard nothing.

I didn't see the point of waiting when they wouldn't answer the door. I guess I wasn't welcomed anymore. So I dragged my feet and begrudgingly drifted away.

Maybe there's hope for another cottage. Maybe I don't have to wait so long this time.

Maybe I should just get used to the rain.