Challenge
Write about your relationship with the rain.
The rain had always respected me. Before it touched my skin, it asked for consent. Before it made me wet, it looked at me to see if I wanted that. The rain and I had a love story. I promised it that whenever it was raining I would go outside to meet it. If people complained about the rain, I always told them it wasn't so bad. But then I met you, and I kissed you under the rain, and it was so mad at me. Now storms and thunders roar outside my window, because I hurt it's feelings. Now the rain doesn't ask me before it touches or wets me. It simply comes.
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