The sky slid open for 梅雨 (méiyǔ), the plum rain, a few weeks ago. So that the plums grow firm and violet, the rain never ceases to fall.
I don’t know where the sky takes all of that water from…

The sky’s breath feels hot and sultry on my skin. Rain drops run from my hair down my shoulders, then drip to the ground from my fingertips. I put on damp shoes every morning, the cloth on me never dries.

Slowly, I water down. I thin out and absorb everything as I am washed away. Crimson fades as I disintegrate back into H2O. I loose consistency, taste and odor…

Here’s nine songs to listen to in the rain.

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