The Soul Rain

I love rain …

DownpourBut sometimes the rain isn’t physical. It isn’t wet, or deliciously cool, and it doesn’t tickle my cheeks or make playfully wide, stompable puddles. It’s more like a dreary downpour that just won’t stop, one that won’t allow the clouds to break up or the sun to peek through. The puddles this rain forms are chin-deep. It’s a soaking, cold greyness of the mind that can affect anyone, at any time, for any reason, and those of us with rheumatoid disease are very familiar with it.

It’s the soul rain. It’s hopelessness.

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