The Rain

When it rains.

I think of her. We used to be together whenever it rained. We used to cancel plans and run from where ever we were to each other when it rained. I remember we would just go anywhere, anywhere as long as we were with each other. Sometimes we would get on the subway just to see where we would go. We went to the beach, to the park, and the other park, to the art museum, and the local coffee shop a dozen times and just outside to feel the rain and hold hands.

While rain meant staying inside for most people, it meant seeing her for me.

But then as all clouds do, the rain faded. And so did her smiles and laughter. They were replaced with anger and annoyance. And that came like thunderstorms, fast and furious, and then a calm. A calm before another storm. Or the sun.

Soon, we stayed inside. Instead of braving the rain and letting ourselves feel the raindrops without an umbrella, we just avoided it. The risk of lighting and thunder was too much. We didn’t see the sun much after that. The bright rays and sunshine on our faces were far and few in between.

And that’s okay, but now the rain isn’t quite the same. It’s like a gentle reminder of her and as I think of her, I hope she thinks of me too.