A speaker walks alone through the rain, hurting and trying to get away from that hurt. The destination is "a far away area," which suggests a wish for distance as much as a real place. The rain blends with the speaker's tears, so the weather and the grief become hard to tell apart.
The turning point is the middle line: you can't heal something you haven't cleansed fully. The speaker seems to see crying, and the walk itself, as a way of getting the pain out instead of burying it. By the end, the speaker feels "cleaned and refreshed," though the pain hasn't vanished. The final line says the speaker "didn't give in" to it, which sounds more like endurance than a cure.
The mood is quiet, sad, and then steadier. The language is simple and plain, almost like a diary entry, and the repeated line about walking down the street gives a sense of moving forward one step at a time.