Saturated Comfort

It was the steady pitter patter of the rain against the roof that stirred him from his sleep. But he didn't mind. There truly was no better way to be woken up.

It's cadence always crept into his mind before he was full awake - drumming away above him. It'd just meander into his head, mid-dream. At first quietly, then more noticable. He always found himself smiling even before he opened his eyes. Then the smell would hit him. It'd sneak through the door frames and window panes, straight into his noise. The fresh, unmistakable smell of ozone.

There was something special about rainy mornings. It made everything feel older, darker, cozy. The little sun that managed to bleed into the room was so slight that it appeared as if the room itself was as grey as the clouds outside. It made everything feel timeless. He could lay in he bed for hours. Tangled in his sheets, lost among the folds of his comforter, buried deep within his pillows. The air around him was cooler, but his bed felt warmer. It didn't want to let go of him - to let the embrace end. As long as the rain continued, he didn't need to move. He was content to lay there, all day. It never felt like a waste. It just felt right. It felt necessary.

One of the best parts about a morning storm was how it felt comforting. It persuaded him to stay in bed. Reassured him that it was alright to close his eyes again, fall back into a dream, that nothing else was important. It'd still be there when he woke up again, ready to welcome him, spend time with him. It even was kind enough to lull him to sleep. Its rhythm guided his eyes shut while the droplets of water splashing against his window only further mesmerized him.

Everything just felt smaller to him when it rained. His walls seemed closer, the ceiling lower, his sheets tighter.

He felt embraced.

He wished it rained every day.