I hate it.

Yet I love it still.

I hate how it makes my clothes stick to my skin and flattens my once stylish hair. I hate how my make-up is ruined from the cold droplets as it hits my face. I hate having to rush from place to place just so my shoes don't fill with water. But as I stand here with people that I do not know I thank the rain. I do not regret having forgot my umbrella in the car. Nor do I hate the people near me for not offering to share. My once beautifully made red and black strapless silk dress now sticking to my skin like a second layer. Gloves reaching just above my elbows now resemble white rubber gloves. My black ankle boots are covered in mud now and I don't care. My mind has blocked out the voice of the preacher as I watch the star of this gathering. He is dressed in his best black suit, dress shoes and a bright yellow tie. A sad smile crosses my face for a mere second as I notice this. This is why I dressed so strangely to this event, for only he would dress like this even now. I am dressed as I was for the last major event in my lift he played a part in.

I am dressed for prom.

I watch as the emotionless people he called family leave without even saying goodbye. I stop the men as they are about to send him off ignoring the stares of the adults around me. Reaching in to my coat and pulling out a silver envelope I place it gently next to him. On the envelope in intricate swirling letters is my name along with the name of who I went to prom with. If anyone where to open it they would find the card made for the dance and the picture we took outside of my school. This man was, no is, like a grandfather to me and treated me and my family like his own. He even pulled out one of his expensive classic cars from storage to drive me to the dance. Seeing him pull up outside my house in a Rolls Royce and dressed like a chauffeur. To see him smiling and acting like someone half his age. This, This is the man that cared for everyone and helped whenever he could. He never raised his voice never argued or got mad at anyone. As I turn and begin the long walk back to my car the whispers start. I may not be blood related but I was kinder to him than his blood kin. As soon as he was put into the hospital his daughters and son started to sell off his things. They went to his office that he had owned for over 30 years and took all of his antique toys, furniture, and anything else of value. I was with my mom on one of these days having come to visit her at work. Not one of them even seemed remotely sad or worried about their dying father. The only ones who seemed to be sad and worried where me, my mother, and the two women the worked with her. Most people find their bosses to be mean or plain out hate them. But not this man,no, none who has ever met him can say they hate him.

As I walk away from the cold stares o his family I think of how different things are going to be now. As if feeling my sadness the rain begins to fall faster and now feels as heavy as small rocks. I pay no mind to this and continue to simply walk along at a slow pace. About halfway to the exit I stop to stare at something I find strange. For in this mass area of ancient dirt and crumbling stones a tall figure stands tall and proud. Without a second thought I walk up to it and gaze at it with my dull emerald eyes. In front of me is a statue that is no angel or person of honor. No face can been seen from the hollow that has been carved to the shape of a large hood. The hood is connected to a large cloak that reaches to the figures feet, long sleeves cover its hands and in the left hand that is held up above its head is a scythe. I fall to the ground in front of this massive creation finally letting out all my sorrows.

The reason I love the rain.

It hides my tears.