So this is how Summer came. Not actually noticed it, but its subtle smell wouldn’t let me go.
Summer came with its so-called smell. April came with every possible inch of rain.
Raining in April is like a smell because it truly deeply is a smell: a fragile yet unmistakably seductive scent of Gardenia, a bluntly nostalgically striking fragrance of summer night that can only be noticed once you step out of your front door. Raining in April is like a chilly ringtone that constantly reminds you of your childhood, an old taste that comforts your irritating soul, a lullaby that sings you to sleep, an image of your long lost friend. Raining in April is nothing but laughing, smirking, crying, tumbling, reminiscing, strolling, and definite falling. Raining in April is a sadness that you are willing to get addicted to but insistently choose to neglect its existence, just like the first time you saw him.