The Rain Doesn't Ask Where You're Going

It rained for the third afternoon in a row, and you didn't mind.

You sat by the window with a cup of tea gone cold, watching droplets trace slow paths down the glass. You used to have places to be. Plans. A version of yourself that filled a calendar and called it living.

Somewhere along the way, the calendar emptied. Not all at once - one canceled lunch, one postponed dream, one morning you just didn't get up when the alarm went off. And then it became a kind of weather, this not-knowing. Gray and low and oddly still.

The rain doesn't ask where you're going. It just falls.

Maybe that's what you needed to remember - that not everything requires a destination. That being lost isn't the same as being broken. That some afternoons are meant to be sat through, quietly, with cold tea and fogged windows, while the world outside moves without you.

You'll find your way. You don't have to find it today.