Everyone loves to look at rain. It’s romantic. Everyone likes to fuck in it or be in it for a second or two. Then the problems start. The worst thing about life is that it’s cold and unpredictable, even when it’s hot.
People tell you to do what you love. Which is, of course impossible. Love is a broken and divided concept, and it never means the same thing twice. You don’t do what you love; you do what you do.
Rain is like love. It’s pretty to look at. It’s pretty to think about. And when it falls it has that moment of pleasure. Then it causes problems you didn’t even know existed.