Falling from the clouds we catch them in capped hands. With curiosity and infatuation we smile never to talk of the unspoken rule: catch them only to let them go – a false benevolence.
Don’t catch me then. Let me fall.
They say eggs are to be held gently, laid down with care, and carried attentively. Any miscalculated gesture can cause minor or permanent fracture – rendering it damaged, flawed, passed over, quickly and absent mindedly used. But I don’t wonder about eggs, I wonder about raindrops.
Raindrops and clouds. But mostly raindrops.
Raindrops don’t have shells the eyes can see. But I believe they have something to protect what they carry inside. Maybe not, but believing that makes me feel better so I will keep believing they come in shells of steel which are unclothed softly by the wind as they penetrate the atmosphere.
Raindrops…
There must be something that gives them the confidence to fall so freely, knowing they will end up splattered in your hand before meeting their truth. And yet they fall without reservation, or so it seems.
But I watch where I fall. You do too. Get enough broken backs, bruised inner children and you too will watch where you fall - or who is catching you. Because sometimes it's better to fall than for that person to catch you.
Hmm...
So why catch raindrops if we know they’ll lose what and who they are when they hit our callous palms. Why stretch out knowing we catch them only to let them go?
Dishonest kindness I say. A socially approved falsehood of true gentleness we can’t seem to help but exhibit - even for a short while as we learn a better way.
So I begin to imagine. Let’s imagine...
Imagine everything and everyone looked like a raindrop and was treated as such. I wonder how the world will meander. Will we be kinder to each other when we see each other from afar? Will we treat each other with prompt kindness when we are near? Will we guide raindrops to a better fate or help them transform deserts into gardens? Will we ready the barrels so they fall and stay together, growing mighty from their little drops? Will we cradle them in our palm if we happen to catch them, and pour them to safety as we whisper songs of affection and fuzzy feelings? Or will we still reach out, only to let go?
Should I see you and see a raindrop, what will my words be when you speak? Will I sharpen my words to pierce or dull my touch to caress? And will you do the same? Will you see me as a raindrop or hail you have no time to fondle?
Here is a promise I don’t expect you to make but I make to you…
Raindrop,
I will catch you with balls of cotton so you may last longer when you fall. So I may plant you in the field and cradle you as you germinate into much more. I will visit you in the fields as you live out the rest of your fall, hugged in the precaution of your calyx till your water runs dry and I, still by your side, loving on you till your next reincarnation.
And should I ever uncap my hands and let you splatter on the ground, that will be true benevolence knowing I can’t hold on to you forever. I can’t be what you need and fiddling with you is a jejune fairytale no one can get enough of; so we can repeat the cycle just to have a story to tell. But I want no part in that thus I will not reach out to catch you to begin with.
My heart aches which you decide to do. Don’t tell me. But this is my promise.
Just...
Hold me like a raindrop
Catch me like a falling cloud
It will not matter how I end up – cracked or splattered in your hand before I meet the ground. I would have at least been held for a brief time before my end of time.
love,
nomtondo