Raining

The rain seems constant these days. I don't mind too much, I guess. The only thing is that with the rain comes a flood... and suddenly I'm drowning. Touch, taste, smell... you know how. I feel it seeping into every place you've ever been. Setting sail on the sea of my body, my mind, that part of me that holds on for dear life. I think I saw you there, floating in some distant dream. I lift my hand to wave, but it's too late. Images flash like scratchy movie clips. The film reel blinks a few times. My front door opens. I see you, in a cotton hoodie, walking up my stairs, a little damp from rain a little sweaty from a last minute attempt to save the day (which you did by the way). You take off your bag, leave your shoes on the rug, shake out your hair and apologize for being such a mess. The sound breaks and hums. You say "welcome to my life." I smile, a little shy and say you don't need to apologize. You wore mismatched socks (they were different colors, striped), and a tshirt you said was too small. I probably didn't tell you, but I thought you looked wonderful. There is something... The way your face changes like clouds. Feels like coming home under a familiar sky. You used to come over in the late afternoon. A stack of books beside my bed. Bukowski, Murakami, Camus (I never read). You left your motorcycle helmet on my desk. I liked seeing it there, but I couldn't stand the thought of you so vulnerable and exposed. It was finally returned, though I admit that I was sad to see that small part of you go. You used to sing little bursts of songs. You spoke and I fell into every word and then sometimes you would grow quiet and taciturn, not to be disturbed. Like Neruda wrote, "In you everything sank" and I did. If I were to tell you this, you would roll your eyes and say how dramatic I am. I would smile because I have a weak spot for Neruda and your eyes, even when expressing your frustration with me. I checked out a book of fairy tales from the library. You were going to read them to me, because I find the illustrations terrifying. I returned the book several weeks ago, unopened and unread. I never had a chance to be scared. Images flicker in my mind, We are walking to the diner. I see you smile and say "How perfect is it, that we are walking together in the rain?" It's raining today and I'm walking alone in a blue dress. The fall chill fills the air. Passersby button their coats and push their umbrellas into the wind. You are somewhere in this town, doing something I don't know. It's raining today and I wonder how you've been and if you are managing to stay out of the storm