Pluviophilic

It's raining. 
I smile. 
They called me a weirdo again. 

I love the rain though. Not the heavy downpour kind but the moderate drizzle that makes me think of hot chocolate and a good book. It's funny how the rain makes me happy. The pitter patter of the rain while it falls down the rooftops makes me giddy. The Irish call it a "soft day". I think they're right. Like a comfy blanket or a sweet lullaby that gently lulls you to a dreamless sleep. I watch as the raindrops on the windowpane race against one another until it finally kisses the windowsill. Laughter seems to echo as younger faces of my childhood friends flash in my mind. Jumping on puddles, splashing of water from the eaves trough, dancing under the downpour without a care in the world. I still do it sometimes, though it would be nice to do it without being stared at with judging eyes and shaking heads from people my age and adults. Do they dislike the rain? Have they forgotten the excitement when it pours? The rush of blood to scramble outside and and to get drench with open arms? I always have my arms to the sky when I'm getting soaked in the rain. I love how the the cold rain seem to embrace me, how they seem to wash away the frustrations and disappointments even for a moment.