I suppose it wouldn’t be quite as good a life if every day was filled with wildflowers, sunshine, and balloons. That would make a beautiful day, of course, but how would I know it was beautiful? Where’s the perspective in that?
This is why I embrace the rainy days. Most especially those. I love the thunder and gloom and cold that makes me dig out the sweater I just packed in off-season storage.
How would I appreciate love if I could get it as easily as I get coffee in the morning?
How would I feel it’s warmth and cherish its presence without the precursor of a cold, waiting season?
Yes, there will be days like these. Days of not knowing. Days of wondering why not me or why not now or just why the heck not.
But there will be other days that far outlast these. Days of holding hands and whispering sleepy goodnights and waking, not alone. Days of cleaning house together and taking long walks at sunset and laughing at the nonsense of society.
I’ve faith enough. And plenty of love. And hope for what’s next.
As long as there are brighter days ahead, I don’t mind that there will be days like these, I suppose.