“Rain On A Sunny Day”
sunlight spilling across my skin,
coffee cooling beside me,
and that voice—raw, steady—
asking, “Have you ever seen the rain?”
I closed my eyes,
and felt it—
that quiet ache that hides beneath the bright.
The kind of sorrow that wears a smile
so no one sees it breaking.
Success looks a lot like sunshine—
gold, blinding,
a warmth that everyone assumes feels good.
But what they don’t know
is how heavy light can be
when your heart’s still drenched
from the last storm.
I asked the song to tell me who I was.
It didn’t answer—
it just played back my silence.
The rain became memory,
the sun became mask,
and the space between them—
that’s where my truth lives.
I’ve been that band before—
standing center stage,
applause so loud it drowned the warning thunder,
smiling while something sacred
was slipping through the cracks.
And maybe that’s the lesson—
that we all shine while we’re falling,
we all break under bright skies,
we all pretend the weather’s fine
until the music stops.
Sometimes, words just don’t reach it.
There’s a kind of truth that doesn’t speak — it just shows up.
In the lump in your throat,
the tear you hide,
the quiet after pretending you’re fine.
The rain isn’t only sadness —
it’s honesty.
It’s the soul’s way of saying,
“I’m still here.”
Even when the sun’s out,
even when you’re smiling for everyone else.
Because some days,
it’s the rain that tells the truth.
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