Rain, the Eraser of Memories

Rain. Just when life seems like one big joke with a punchline no one can remember, along comes rain. Rain, with its murky gray clouds that obscure the sun, blot out the blue sky and fills human hearts with a pervading sense of gloom.

But rain blesses us with more than a fuliginous sky and human misery. As a great man once said, it washes memories off the sidewalk of life. And what is life if not a concrete slab, a lifeless mass of rock that is constantly trampled upon but rarely pondered? A dull gray path that cracks and crumbles until it is reset with a wet mixture, prompting self-absorbed children to place their handprints in it. Ha! Such self-glorification, such nostalgic masturbation in those so young. As if future generations care to look at their handprints and remember the lives of a few insignificant munchkins.

Future generations will be no different than ours: They will do nothing more than scurry over the sidewalk of life, ignoring what it really is and thinking only of arriving at their next meal, meeting or movie. Do we pause and marvel at these handprints? Never. We walk over them, we spit upon them and let our housepets shit on them.

Life is nothing but a cold concrete slab people hustle and bustle over until their end. The only relief is the rain which washes over it, erasing our past and allowing us to fade into oblivion. Leave no record of your life behind. It is an affront to reality.