silkysalspam1-50037545 @silkysalspam1-50037545
I stand under my yellow umbrella, watching the rain fall gently onto the flowers in our garden. It's always been one of my favorite things to do on days like this. I remember when I was a little girl, I'd run outside in the rain without even thinking twice about it, feeling the droplets hit my face and laughing as the wind whipped through my hair.
As I grew older, I began to understand that not everyone shared my love for rainy days. My parents would scold me, telling me to stay inside where it's warm and dry. But I never listened. There was something about the smell of wet earth and the sound of raindrops on leaves that made me feel at peace.
Now, as a twenty-year-old woman, I still find myself drawn back to this spot whenever there's a storm brewing outside. It's not just the beauty of the garden that holds my attention - it's also the memories I've made here over the years. The way my mother would join me under our umbrella and tell stories about her own childhood, the way my father would tease me for being so carefree.
My blue shoulder-length hair is wet from the rain, but I don't bother to brush it out - instead, I let it hang around my face like a veil. My skin is hot from walking in the downpour, but I welcome the feeling of warmth spreading through my body as I exhale slowly.
I look at myself and feel grateful for my perfect body,
