Stories Under The Rain – to Remember


Stories Under The Rain ...

Do we really apply the concept of dancing in the rain 🌂 to our mundane life?

I mean, not when we are watching a movie or envisaging a scene with our beloved.

The kissing scene — By God, if only our lips blended, now!

The fighting and then the making out, on the bridge, right under rain’s curtain — as in The Notebook scene,

or the let’s walk into the first shop because the rain has caught us off guard — inspired by true facts, me and my old “self” a decade ago, in Italy.

Simply enjoy the rain for the sake of it.

“He who marries on a rainy day will be happy for the rest of his life.” —French Proverb

She and He had gone on a vacation to Italy.

To the very heart of the Colosseum, and the Cupid of Florence, and the paintings on the wall, in Pompei, and the colourful laundry line-up, hanging on the balconies of the tight streets in Naples.

To getting soaking wet in Rome.

That’s when He -- called a friend in Istanbul, to lead us to the first X shop close to us.

I might not remember a boy I once knew, and yet, moments, just like the beads of the rain are here with us. To cherish, to smile at, to come back to, every now and then, whenever such moments need an embrace of ours. Or to be thankful, so thankful to the very core for having lived them. As such, these moments pop up from the shelves of oblivion into the nows of remembrance, especially when under the rain.

As I am writing this post, in the very heart of downtown Bucharest, listening to the rain has triggered another story to pop up from the closet of remembrance.

I love rain. Do you?

“Umbrella is comfort, rain is life! You must often leave comfort to the touch of life.” — Mehmet Murat ildan

He saw “She” in Greece.

His heart was set on fire.

’twas Love at first sight.

A fire the heavy rain couldn’t dim. Not even close.

On the contrary, it burned on a crescendo.

The blue-eyed of Greece was by his very side.

A beautiful blond, herself.

He, a Turk.

The father of She, the beautiful blond, wouldn’t give his blue-eyed Lady to He, a “barbarian”, allegedly.

Hence He — carries his beloved away from Greece, onto a new realm, the Land of Their Love, in a new country, a new home to She.

A story inspired by true facts.
Many lives in one life -- my life.

And many stories get written under the drops of the rain.

Miraculous rainbows — symphonies of colours on the sky are given away by rain.

The unexpected -- stems from the rain.

One only needs the courage to make the very first step into and through.

There is something soothing and calming in the cadence of the rain.

There is tranquillity in the rain.

Moreover, there is abundance. There’s a lot of abundance in the rain.

And perhaps, love. Loads of dripping love drops.

And moments from the shelves of remembrance have joined us, this moment.

In a further now, uncreated moments rush their way — to become droplets of happenings.


Bucket ready, droplets of love can't pour themselves out for him yet, for the ship of Him hasn’t officially come into the Harbour.

Nevertheless — I can and will dance to this enchanting song: “Rain”, and wait under the umbrella for its heavy drops to slow in motion so that I can walk my way, back, home, to the soothing touch of the rain.

Or that of a Gladiator, from the very womb of Life, perhaps?

The rainbow after the rain.

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