It’s raining here this evening. A pleasant rain with gentle thunders. The curtains are drawn and the house is quiet. When I was younger, this was my favorite type of weather. That was before I truly loved the outdoors, and I favored days spent inside writing stories and drawing. Right now, the 12 year old me would be hiding in the little attic that was attached to my bedroom. I’d be listening to 89.7 (BBC radio, the classical station) and sketching a fashion line with my colored pencils. Or, if my sister was around, we’d be playing hotel and real estate or a similar game involving me cleaning and decorating our shared room. After a while, I might have convinced my mom to brew us some coffee. We’d drink it diminutive cups, filled with more cream than coffee, reading magazines and pretending we were older than our age.
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