The raindrops pelt my hair, my face, my arms, my hands until I am drenched.
I stand in the empty street, arms outstretched, palms turned upwards, embracing the clouds above.
I know eyes are watching me from behind nets, behind doors held slightly ajar and deep in the shadows just out of reach of the streetlight’s glare.
I know they are whispering behind hands and underneath raised eyebrows – to them I am the woman who has lost her mind with grief, for nobody sane stands in the street, in the rain, in her nightgown.
But I do – it is a relief to feel something other than the weight of profound loss – it is a relief to feel so refreshed.