On days like this, when the rain falls like it has lost its way, I think. I think about the umbrella I lost. The umbrella with the wide polyester canopy, the steel shaft (no pun intended) and the polished curved wooden handle (still no pun intended).
I keep coming back to the same question, where did I lose it? The railway station, on the way to class, at the ice cream shop where I didn't buy any ice cream but sat anyway before I was kicked out, the laundromat, or was it stolen. Who could have done it? Who looked at my umbrella all wrong, who was so jealous that they couldn't see my umbrella in my caring arms? I do not know. I don't think I ever will. Closure seems to keep evading me. But hope doesn't. I hope whoever did find it, treats it with care. But I can't help but wonder, will they do the sword swirl like I did, or pretend like it was a gun like in The Kingsman, or simply poke other people with it.
On days like this when I do not perspire answers, I pour my mango juice in the orange, apple and carrot juice, grimace at the resultant taste and think about my umbrella.