I dream a dream of raindrops falling onto veiled faces. Abayas black and heavy dragging against the grass. Of the mud splashing at my feet as I twirl, the ecstasy reaching the tips of my fingers, unrepressed. To lie on the ground and look at the sky and feel the water dripping from my brows. Deep breaths filling lungs with crisp air, I sense a tingling of lightheaded humor. My fears untangle beneath my chest and seem to float upwards giddily. I grin madly at the sky one breathtaking evening in July. I am happy.
But I am inside. Writing poetry on my wrists. Watching as now lone raindrops pool miserably on my windowsill. Knowing deep down, that I have never longed for something more, than to be the Hijaabi dancing in the summer rain.