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Love in the Time of Rainfall
She became my picture-perfect memory.
I first saw her in a glimpse between cars when I stood on the street, safe under an umbrella as a light downpour pelted the ground. She had her own umbrella too, but she had let it fall to the side as she looked up at the clouded sky and held her tongue out to catch stray raindrops. She didn’t seem to care about the state of her hair or her clothes as they got drenched in the process.
As I watched, I felt something stir inside me as if a long-dormant creature in my chest had finally awoken from its slumber.
It was so strange. It was like daydreaming in a soft haze.
I was crossing the street before I had allowed myself even a second thought.
That’s how the story between her and I began.
It had been six months, and I counted every day as some kind of miracle.
Every time I traced sunlight rays across her skin, I thought of her as if she were some kind of muse that came down from her pedestal just to frolick with the mortals for a time.
Each time I brought my lips to her mouth, she was like strawberry wine concocted right from the vine of Mother Earth.
I never imagined I could be happier.
