I used to never smell the rain.
My nose works just fine, but I was too busy moving forward to stop long enough and indulge in the scent.
Now that I find myself moving backward faster than I could ever put one foot in front of the other, I think I should indulge.
The rain smells like sweet regret.
The kind that keeps you up all night, when you can sleep all day.
The rain smells like a lover who beat you to a heartbreak.
You hurt her before you knew she hurt you.
The rain smells like waking up before your alarm clock.
My only problem with the rain, is that it always seems to be here.
Sometimes I want to smell fresh cut grass or ocean water.
Sometimes...I just want to stay dry.
I realize that I never stopped to smell the rain because I was terrified by its reality.
I was terrified that I might not be as happy as the mirror tells me I am.
That I might not be as well off as my grades tell me I am.
That I might not be loved as much as my peers smiles tell me I am.
Maybe there's a reason I never stopped to smell the rain.
Maybe I'm a coward.
But I do know, I hate that smell.