Rainy Days

She sat in her favorite oversized chair by the window overlooking the garden, her mood subdued by the darkened skies outside. It had been raining for five days now and she missed the afternoon sun glinting off the stained glass ornaments hung from the windowpane that showered the ceiling with a rainbow of colors. Resting her head against the cushion, she stared at the flowers in the garden, drooping from the strain of the constant rainfall.

As a rule, she didn’t mind rain. In fact, she found it oddly romantic on a damp rainy day, to sit with her legs curled up, sipping a cup of black tea and watch the raindrops slide down the glass windows. Then the second day felt as if she was waiting for her long lost lover to return, her wistful gaze trained faithfully on the horizon. On the third day there was the anticipation of the sun returning and a new outlook revealed after everything was washed away. But by the fifth day it was just dank and wet and depressing and she could barely remember what the sun looked like.

Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes and waited. Perhaps tomorrow the sun would return.

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