It Stopped Raining

As the raindrops kept ricocheting off that single casement window of mine,
my thoughts had replicated this operation. It had been 1200 since
my friends and I had rendezvous at the local amusement park.
The screams. The cheers. The laughter. Everyone looked succeeded in
riding their favorite metal deathtraps. But something else
made me feel revitalized. With his scruffy hair, complemented with his
British intonation, this was the kid I went to high school with. We
laughed, we talked about rollie coasters, we shook hands.
I couldn't tell you why I felt this rejuvenation, but I certainly felt it.
Why was I more invested in this kid than riding some
centripetal force-ridden contraption? Because you can't put a G-force on
happiness. The real satisfaction here was hanging with my bro.
Already? The rain stopped? Well, my thoughts certainly haven't. If only my
scruffy-haired, British talking, 6 foot 5 pal could be here, so we
talk more about the rollie coasters. But I didn't see him after 1230.
That doesn't mean we can't re-visit each other now and then, though.
It's like the rain. Sometimes it visits you, sometimes it doesn't. But those
times it visits you, cherish them. Because it won't visit you all the time.