Rain trickles outside the window,
soaking the world in mist.
My eyes blur more and more.
Under the eaves, I open an umbrella,
each step rippling the puddles.
The street blooms with countless flowers—
who could tell which one shades me?
But the moment you rush in and embrace me,
the rain beneath the umbrella stops.
If my love were a storm,
would you please refuse to raise your umbrella?
