When I was little, rain meant freedom.Puddles were playgrounds, and each splash felt like magic.I’d race barefoot through wet streets, clothes clinging, laughter echoing louder than thunder. Now, the rain finds me at a window.The glass is fogged, the bench outside glistens, and I sit still, watching.The puddles wait, but I don’t move. Somewhere between … Continue reading From Puddles to Windows→
