A Pluviophile: A Short Story

As a pluviophile, there are times of great beauty on this planet called earth. Waking up in the middle of the night, maybe just to have a midnight snack or to go to the bathroom or something and pass by a window. The little tear shape drops against the window pane, followed by the rhythmic, gradually intensifying sound of rain. It’s so beautiful, it almost seems fake. It always makes me feel more relax, for some reason.
During times like this; I put on the closest pair of shoes, grab my keys, go outside, jump into the first puddle that I see, then drive and drive. It does not matter if the rest of the world is quiet. All that matters to me is that there is the pitter-patter of rain on my moving car. Just me driving around on the empty streets and there will be no consequences. No one there to expect anything from me. No one there to judge my love for rain. And
When I got out I beelined to the tallest slide and climbed all the way to top. Sitting up there I started to look around and take in the beautiful, peaceful silence of being alone. Like I am in a world of my own. Which brings one of the biggest smile I had made to my face and I laughed. I did not care if I was sitting on top of a slide and laughing like a lunatic in the rain at two O'Clock in the morning. I was happy, but then came the call.
Annoyance filled my head, it was my mother. I sighed and picked up the phone. I did not even get a chance to say hello before I was bombarded with questions about where I was. When she finally stop talking to catch her breath I told her I was coming home.
I went down the slide and walked towards my car. As I drove home I passed by the same bridge and remembered about being in conflict with my emotion doing that short time. But just like before I forgot all about it once I passed under it. When I finally walked inside the house which was greeted by yelling from my mother, I had an