Confession to the Rain.

I think it was Saturday. A beautiful woman was visiting the graveyard. It was a sad and gloomy day. Everything was covered in mist—as if the world itself had taken a bath in it. The kind of day where even animals hide... but for some reason, humans... they still loved it. Sometimes I wonder, are we twisted for that? Or blessed to be able to see beauty in something considered cursed and spiteful? I used to love the rain... it made me feel at peace... I looked at this lovely woman again—she left "forget-me nots" at the grave. I loved their smell as well... She usually comes here every week and almost always looks sad. She frowns just like she did when she was young... and now she's all grown up... I wish I could comfort her, but she always ignores me. I wonder—is she mad? I sat beside her and stayed until she was gone.

I was visiting my grandma's grave. I go there every week, if possible. She was an amazing woman... but then time took not only her body but her mind as well. She started to forget everyone, everything—even me. She was a woman of many talents. One of them was writing. She was in a club of authors, and since it was her 87th anniversary, the president of the club, Lewis asked me to write a short story about her. I didn't refuse. She deserved that, at the very least. I sat down, picked up the pen, and tried to write the first word—but I couldn't. I was no writer. I didn't have that talent... but she did. I wish she hadn't gone so painfully. By the time she died, she had already been gone for a while. So, I didn't even cry at her funeral. Not even a drop. I guess I was so mad when she looked at me like I was a stranger—like an assassin trying to poison her. Well... I guess I deserved it. I didn't take the news of her illness very well. Neither of us did. By the time we realized, she was already not the same person—and sadly, for a long time, I still thought she was. I was mean to her. I laughed at her... I ridiculed her. And when I finally grew up and looked in her eyes, I saw it—the hate and anger. I never thought I would lose her love, but I believe I did. It was pouring outside, and it reminded me just how much she loved the rain. That's why she used to call me her "little drop." The rain was knocking on my window, and I thought—if reincarnation was real, Grandma would have come back as rain. Maybe it was her knocking? Asking me to let her in? I didn't believe in such superstition... but I still opened the window. The rain did come in and wet my walls... but I was happier than sad, because now I knew what I was going to write.

The next day, I saw that beautiful woman again in a café. She was writing something so eagerly. I wanted to see what it was—but I restrained myself. She was always angry when I peeked at her little poems... She was right, you know. You should never disturb artists while they create. Once more, I sat beside her, and she ignored me again... I knew she was mad, but she would never listen to me whenever I tried to apologize. She was sitting beside the window and eating cookies. She always had a sweet tooth, just like me. I always brought her sweets when I came home from work.

She would eat everything and then have a stomachache. What should I have done? I couldn't say no to this little drop. But now... she's mad. I want her to know just how sorry I am.

After the café, I went to the park—a place my grandma really loved. I hoped the rain would start and tell me what to write about her... but it did not. I sighed. I know what I'm going to write, but I don't know how. Lewis asked me to write a short story, but what if I wrote a letter instead? I used to love writing poems when I was young. But then I stopped. People made fun of my art because I wasn't good enough. I was never good at anything... but I loved to do a lot of things, even though I always lacked. My grandma taught me how to play chess. But then I had no one to play with. My parents never had time for me, and as an only child, I was quite lonely. But I had my grandma—right before I didn't. It's embarrassing and sad how my She needed to be mentally ill to be mean to me, but I... I did it for free. I'm planning to write an apology letter to my her—to write things I did that I was too embarrassed to confess to anyone. She always took me to the park, but I was so young, I don't even remember it now. The memories of her are starting to fade. I wish we had more time together... but we didn't. And what time we had—I ruined it all.

I saw that lovely woman again. She was at home, throwing paper in the trash. I believe she didn't know how talented she was. She was so sweet when she was young... She's even gentler now. I wish I had more time with her. I want her to know just how sorry I am. I don't want her to be mad... If only she knew just how much I love that little drop.

Writing this letter was embarrassing and really tiring. So I decided to take a stroll. I

walked by the old bakery where Grandma always brought me more than one thing because I could never decide between cookies and muffins... so she always brought me both. That memory felt so warm... I wish I could just go back! I don’t understand all the disgusting words I told her! I wasn’t even sure anymore if it was such a good idea to write that letter. She already passed, so she probably knows how I feel, right? I continued my stroll, tried to clear my mind, but that frustration was not going anywhere. I found a bench and sat down for a while. I was looking aimlessly at the night sky—it felt so distant... While thinking how those same stars were suns for other galaxies, a raindrop fell on my forehead, and before I realized, it was pouring heavily again! People were running to nearby cafés, bakeries, stores. I sat there in the rain for a while, but the rain wouldn’t stop, so I went to the nearby bookstore. It was a really comfy-looking store with a little wooden, carmine door welcoming you. As I opened the door, a kind-looking grandpa with a strangely long face greeted me.

—Welcome to Albert’s Bookshelf!

—Hi— I was really wet and nervous, hoped he wouldn’t kick me out, afraid for his books... but he was rather nice. He even offered me cocoa and a towel. The towel was probably for his books' sake... Growing up in a family of book lovers, I know how overprotective they can get.

—Are you looking for something or just sheltering from the rain, miss?

—Oh, just sheltering...—okay, now he was going to kick me out for sure!

—Okay then, take your time, miss!—he smiled again.

It was really quiet in the bookstore; only the rain and my slurping sounds were disturbing the peace.

—It’s a long rain. Do you like rain, miss? I happened to see you sat in the open for a while before you decided to come in!

—Ah, yes, I love the rain. It takes my mind to peace when my thoughts collide... What about you, sir?

—Well, I’m not a fan. My peaceful place is books! Starting from their feel to their smell, I love everything about them! They always have the answer I seek... Would it be okay if I ask what is troubling you?

—Ah— I hesitated— I was just wondering, what’s the point in apologizing if the person is already long gone... Should have thought about confession before. Now it’s too late.— I poured my heart out to this kind grandpa.

—Oh! But you’re wrong, miss! I’ll tell you one secret: The apology is not only for the victim but mainly for the culprit! You remember how they always made us write apology letters in school? Do you think anyone was really reading them? No! They just wanted us to confess our sins! A person needs to admit when they do wrong. Saying that aloud is just the next step. Just like when you tell your confession to the priest! You’re doing it for yourself. Confession is for the culprit—so is the forgiveness! If you think you need to apologize to someone, even if that person is gone—then you need to do it at least for yourself!—he was right... I needed it more than anyone. I needed to free myself from this guilt!

We talked for some time, and then the rain stopped.

—Thank you for your help, sir! I’ll come by again!

—You’re always welcome here, miss! Just please tell me your name. Can’t be calling you miss all the time—he laughed.

—It’s Eleanor. I was named after my grandma!

I saw that glamorous girl again in the bakery... She bought a muffin with blueberry on top. I guess she really grew up. She couldn’t decide when she was just a little drop.

I finally wrote it! It was the day of the anniversary. I met with the president, and we went to the club together. There weren't many people—probably most of them had already passed. When I was young, Grandma always brought me here. I was so happy listening to all those amazing stories—especially my grandma's... I greeted everyone. Everyone was really sweet; they told me stories of my childhood that I didn’t remember anymore. As we were talking, the president, Lewis, came and pointed to the stage. I understood it was my time and went to the stage with him. He knocked at the microphone and greeted us:

—Welcome, everyone! Today we are here for our former friend, colleague, and the kindest person I—and most of you—have ever known! In the memory of Eleanor! I asked her granddaughter to write a short story about her! Please welcome her to the stage!

Everyone was clapping. After Lewis’s speech, I was even more nervous. But I needed to do this! That letter was not only for my grandma... but for me as well. I took my letter out, took a deep breath, and looked at the place Grandma used to sit with me. I needed her to know just how sorry I was:

"Confession to the Rain"

Every time I frowned,

You used to laugh,

But today you did not-Your face was quiet and calm.

Even the rain didn't make you laugh!

I was a kid, and you were ill.

You forgot me,

And didn't resemble yourself at all!

It hurt me so much.

From all the names you called, None was mine--not even one.

I asked you to play chess,

The game you taught me yourself,

But you looked at me in disgust,

And told me I'd never

Be able to play, because I lack.

I was never mad--

You just made me a little sad. It's because I loved you so much,

I'm sorry I never told you that.

But now you returned as

Little drops of the rain

You always loved so much

Beautiful and sweet, As you always said.

I wish I could go back

And just fix what I have done, So you wouldn't be mad!

And love me like you did,

Back when I was your little drop.

I'm really sorry I hurt you like that,Please don't be mad.

—-

That's a beautiful letter you wrote me, my lovely drop. I was never mad. I'm so sorry I hurt you like that. I needed to know you weren't mad. Thank you so much. Now I can truly return as the rain we both loved so much. I'm so happy you turned into the lovely woman you are now.

—Happy birthday grandma. I love you.