She never loved the rain, but there was something to be said for the tranquility it doused the earth in. She liked to sit in side by the television and just cuddle up in her grandmother's afghan as the skies darkened and the water slapped the windows. She loved the way it soothed her nerves, and lulled her to the sweet darkness of sleep. She counted the rain as her dearest and only friend.
So when winter came, and rain turned to snow, she was always disappointed. She hated the way the white crystals smothered the ground and turned the world into a fantasyland of ice and cold. She hated the dead silence of falling snow. Each winter her friend went away.
When spring came 'round, she quietly rejoiced. Relishing the return of her friend. During the course of winter she had just managed to forget how much she needed that soft reassuring hum that splattered her bedroom window.
Summer passed in a content void. She was peaceful, not happy, not sad.
She realized it was fall again, and she dreaded the inevitable loss. She stood by the bus stop, wearing her bright red parka as one of the final showers of the year fell gracefully from the sky, speckling the pavement with a collage of dark splotches. She felt a tap on her shoulder and glanced up. Green eyes. He smiled at her and she smiled back. That winter she learned to love. But she never forgot the rain.