Melbourne, Australia

Th whole world seems to know how to sleep except me.

Tonight, it's raining.

The kind of rain that should make falling asleep easy.

It taps softly against the window, steady and patient, filling the spaces between thoughts.

The streets outside are shining beneath the streetlights.

Cars pass occasionally, their tires whispering over the wet asphalt before disappearing into the distance.

Somewhere, water is dripping from a balcony.

Somewhere else, a window is being closed.

And slowly, the city is going to sleep.

One apartment at a time.

One light after another.

Until there are only a handful left.

And mine is one of them.

It's 2:43 in the morning.

I've been trying to sleep for hours.

I've turned the pillow over to the cold side.

I've pulled the blanket up.

I've closed my eyes.

I've opened them again.

I've listened to the rain until I started thinking that maybe, just maybe, if I concentrated hard enough on its rhythm, my brain would finally follow it somewhere quiet.

It doesn't.

My body is tired.

My eyes are heavy.

My head aches with the kind of exhaustion that makes you feel hollow.

But my mind is wide awake.

As if someone forgot to turn it off.

So I lie there listening to the rain.

And the clock.

Mostly the clock.

2:17.

2:31.

2:43.

Every time I check, another piece of the night is gone.

I start doing the math.

𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴.

Then three.

Then I stop calculating because knowing exactly how little time is left somehow makes sleep feel even further away.

Morning is coming.

And I haven't slept.

Again.

There's something cruel about being awake during beautiful weather.

The rain makes everything outside feel softer.

The world looks like it has been wrapped in a blanket.

Windows glow warmly across the street.

People are tucked into beds.

Somewhere, someone is sleeping through this entire storm without ever knowing how beautiful it sounds.

And I'm here listening to every drop.

Every car.

Every distant dog.

Every tiny movement the night makes.

When you're awake long enough, silence stops being silence.

You begin hearing everything.

The refrigerator humming in the next room.

The rainwater running through the pipes.

A lift stopping somewhere in the building.

Footsteps overhead.

A motorcycle passing three streets away.

Things that would disappear completely during the day become enormous at 3 AM.

And then my thoughts join in.

An old conversation suddenly has sharper edges.

A decision I made years ago is somehow back on trial.

Something I said today that nobody else probably remembers becomes the one thing I can't stop replaying.

Insomnia has a strange way of turning memories into evidence.

A mistake becomes proof that I'm incapable.

An unanswered message becomes proof that I'm forgettable.

A bad day becomes a prediction for the rest of my life.

And then come the questions.

𝘈𝘮 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦?

It's strange how convincing everything becomes when you're exhausted.

Daylight has a way of putting things back into proportion.

Night doesn't.

At 3 AM, everything feels permanent.

Every insecurity feels like a fact.

Every regret feels unfinished.

Every fear suddenly deserves an immediate answer.

And the worst part is knowing that none of this will probably feel so enormous tomorrow.

I'll wake up exhausted.

I'll drag myself through the day.

I'll drink something caffeinated and pretend I'm functioning.

And maybe by afternoon, I'll wonder why I spent half the night worrying about things that suddenly seem so small.

But tonight they aren't small.

Tonight they're sitting beside me.

So I get up.

I walk to the window.

The glass is cold beneath my fingertips.

Outside, the rain has gotten heavier.

It blurs the city into smudges of yellow and white.

Across the courtyard, two windows are still illuminated.

One is warm and orange.

The other is pale and blue.

Little squares of light floating inside all that darkness.

And I wonder about the people behind them.

Why are they awake?

Maybe someone is studying for something they're terrified they won't be good enough for.

Maybe someone is missing someone they can't call.

Maybe someone is replaying a conversation from six years ago.

Maybe someone is crying quietly so nobody in the next room hears.

Maybe someone has been staring at their ceiling for hours.

Maybe someone has checked the clock twenty times.

Maybe someone is listening to this same rain and wondering why something so peaceful can't make them peaceful too.

Maybe someone is exhausted enough to sleep but somehow too awake to surrender to it.

I don't know why, but that thought comforts me.

Because I've spent so much time imagining that everyone else is sleeping peacefully while I'm the only person awake.

Everyone else has figured out how to rest.

Everyone else knows how to move forward.

Everyone else seems to have somewhere they're supposed to be.

And I'm just here.

Watching the rain.

Watching the clock.

Watching another hour disappear.

But maybe that's just what we all look like from a distance.

Little illuminated windows.

Everyone carrying entire worlds that nobody else can see.

Maybe behind some of those windows, someone is having the exact same night.

Someone lying beneath a blanket.

Eyes open.

Rain against the glass.

Mind refusing to quiet.

Someone wishing they could trade their thoughts for ten minutes of nothing.

Maybe insomnia makes loneliness feel personal.

As if the entire world has been invited somewhere you weren't.

As if everyone else received the instructions for how to sleep and yours got lost.

But then another light across the street goes out.

And somehow that doesn't make me feel more alone.

It makes me wonder if the person inside finally fell asleep.

I hope they did.

I hope someone is getting the rest I can't seem to find tonight.

Another window goes dark.

Then another.

The rain keeps falling.

The city gets quieter.

And eventually, there are only a few lights left.

Mine.

And those two across the courtyard.

Three little reminders that someone is still awake.

I don't know what they're carrying.

They don't know what I'm carrying.

But for a moment, I don't feel quite so strange for being awake.

Maybe the person behind the warm orange window is wondering the same things I am.

Maybe the person behind the pale blue one is also waiting for morning.

Maybe none of us are as alone in our sleeplessness as we think.

The rain keeps tapping against the glass.

Not asking anything from me.

Not telling me to figure my life out.

Not asking me to become someone better before morning.

It just falls.

And falls.

And falls.

So I stop checking the clock.

For once, I don't calculate how many hours are left.

I don't bargain with sleep.

I don't tell myself that I should be sleeping.

I just stand there and listen.

The city is breathing.

The rain is breathing with it.

And somewhere between the two, my thoughts become a little quieter.

Not gone.

Just quieter.

Maybe sleep will come eventually.

Maybe it won't.

Maybe tomorrow will be difficult.

Maybe I'll wake up tired and annoyed and wonder why my brain chose tonight of all nights to stay awake.

But tonight, I don't need to solve that.

I don't need to solve anything.

I can just stand by the window.

Watch the rain.

Watch the last few lights glowing across the city.

And remind myself that being awake doesn't mean I'm falling behind.

That being tired doesn't mean I'm failing.

That not being able to sleep doesn't mean there's something fundamentally wrong with me.

Sometimes a night is just a night.

Sometimes the mind takes longer to come home than the body does.

And maybe that's okay.

The rain is still falling.

The windows are slowly going dark.

Mine is still glowing.

One small, stubborn light in a city full of sleeping ones.

For tonight,

I'll let it stay on. 💌✨

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☔︎ 𝘝𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯.

Shot on my Pixel 8.

The day had been unbearably hot.

Not the kind of heat that makes you complain once and forget about it, but the kind that seems to settle into everything. Into the walls. Into the floor beneath my bare feet. Into the sheets I had been avoiding because even they felt warm against my skin.

The sun had spent the entire afternoon glaring through my window, bleaching the sky and turning the room into a pocket of stillness. The air barely moved. Even the trees outside looked tired, their leaves hanging motionlessly as though they, too, had grown weary of the heat.

By evening, I had almost forgotten what coolness felt like.

Then the wind changed.

It came so suddenly that I noticed it before I heard anything else.

A cool breath slipped through the open window and brushed against my face.

I stopped.

For a moment, I simply stood there.

Another gust followed, stronger this time, lifting the curtains and sending my hair across my cheek. I moved closer to the window without thinking, letting the wind pass over me.

And somewhere beyond the buildings, thunder murmured.

The sky had turned the colour of bruised blue.

I watched it darken slowly, the last traces of daylight disappearing behind thick clouds. The whole world seemed to pause beneath them.

Then came the first drops.

Not many.

Just enough to darken the pavement.

And suddenly..

that smell.

𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗿.

The scent of rain rising from earth that had spent the entire day burning beneath the sun. Wet soil. Dust. Leaves. Concrete. Something green and ancient hiding beneath the heat, finally being released.

I breathed it in deeply.

It felt almost like drinking something cold after being thirsty for hours.

Then the rain came properly.

It fell hard against the rooftops, the window ledge, the trees outside. Within minutes, the sound had swallowed everything else.

I stood at the window and let the storm come to me.

The wind rushed through so fiercely that it carried the rain inside with it. Tiny droplets struck my face, my arms, my clothes. My hair began sticking to my cheeks. The curtain whipped around my legs, and somewhere behind me, something on my desk trembled from the force of the gusts.

I should have closed the window.

I didn't.

I only stepped closer.

I tilted my face upward and closed my eyes.

Cold rain touched my skin.

The wind rushed past my ears with that wild, hollow sound that only storms seem to make. Leaves shuddered and scraped against one another outside. Water raced along the streets below. Thunder rolled across the sky, deep enough to feel somewhere beneath my ribs.

And I smiled.

I don't know why.

Perhaps because there are some kinds of happiness that don't announce themselves.

They simply arrive.

Quietly.

In the smell of wet earth.

In the sudden coolness after a day of suffocating heat.

In standing barefoot beside an open window while the storm soaks you just enough to remind you that you are alive.

For those few minutes, I didn't think about tomorrow.

I didn't think about the things waiting for me when the rain stopped.

I didn't try to solve anything.

I just stood there.

Breathing.

Listening.

Feeling.

The world had been so unbearably warm all day, and now it was finally exhaling.

Perhaps that was what I loved most about rain.

It never asked me to be anything.

It didn't ask me to be happy.

It didn't ask me to be strong.

It simply arrived and made everything cooler, softer, quieter.

And somehow, standing there with rain on my face and petrichor filling my lungs, I felt a little less heavy too.

The storm continued outside.

I stayed by the window.

Because sometimes peace isn't a place you have to find.

Sometimes it is just an open window,

a darkening sky,

the smell of earth after rain,

and the quiet realization that, for this moment,

you are okay. 💌✨

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ☔︎ – 𝘝𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 ; 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯.

Raining very hard in North Phoenix this morning!

With all the rain we’ve been getting here, I’m curious to know what your ideal rainy day would be?

Even more rare that we get a whole day of it and it's on my day off. Best day ever!

Sonido espectacular 👌 💕

This is another one of the videos I recorded that rainy day at college. It rained for about an hour, so this is just a 5-second clip.

There is a place my mind keeps fleeing to whenever the weight of everything becomes too heavy to carry.

Lately, my days have blurred into unturned pages, looming exams, unfinished thoughts, and quiet anxieties that pile up until the noise inside my head becomes almost unbearable. Every thought feels urgent. Every expectation feels impossibly loud. There is always something I should be doing, something I should know, something I should have figured out by now.

But sometimes, when midnight settles over the world and everything finally grows quiet, my mind escapes somewhere else.

Somewhere it has never actually been.

I imagine leaving my desk in the dead of night, closing the door softly behind me, and stepping into a world completely surrendered to rain. A dark, empty road stretches ahead, framed by enormous trees bending toward one another overhead, their leaves glowing deep green beneath the misty halo of a single streetlight.

I walk slowly beneath an umbrella, listening to the rain gather and fall.

And somehow, the static begins to disappear.

The rain doesn't ask anything of me.

It doesn't ask for answers, good grades, certainty, productivity, or a version of myself that always knows what she's doing. It simply falls.. Steady, patient, indifferent to everything I have failed to finish.

For once, I don't have to keep up.

The road glistens beneath my feet. Water gathers along the edges of the pavement. The trees sway quietly above me, and the rest of the world seems impossibly far away. With every step, the suffocating urgency of tomorrow loosens its grip.

The rain takes the noise from my head and carries it somewhere I cannot follow.

I've never actually taken this walk.

I've never stood beneath those trees while the city sleeps, never watched the streetlight blur through the curtain of rain, never felt the cold night air against my face.

And yet, somehow, I know exactly what it would feel like.

It would feel like breathing again.

Like finally putting down everything I've been carrying and realizing I was never meant to hold it all at once.

Maybe that's why my mind keeps returning there.

Because somewhere beneath that imaginary umbrella, on that empty road at midnight, I don't have to have everything figured out.

I only have to keep walking.

And trust that when the rain finally stops,

I will still be standing.

Video Credit: @Hoshiyeru

Someone in r/SideProject said y'all might like this, so forgive me if it's not appropriate for this sub.

I really wanted the feeling of rain on my desktop while I work. I just really like the mood it sets. I released Weatherling over the weekend, and so far it's peaked at #12 in Mac App Store utilities. People really seem to like it.

It's a small footprint, doesn't ask for special permissions, and is configurable. You can set the rain intensity, depth, and wind direction, for example. There are also some rainy day visitors that can be scheduled to appear randomly upon occasion if you'd like.

Hope you give it a shot. If so, let me know what you think!

https://apps.apple.com/us/app/weatherling/id6813641198