A Month of Rain

The summer has left everything dry. The road is filled with dead, falling leaves. Promises broken, hearts torn apart, memories tarnished, hope underwhelmed, skies empty with no chance of rain.

Until today.

The first glimpse of rain. I was looking at the sky. Surprisingly, I felt gladness from its gloom. Finally, I had another day seeing children running, hearing teapots whistling, and feeling raindrops falling. Finally, my eyes are set on the wonderful things that will inevitably come as I go forward.

Summer is over.

I was at home and alone. I was supposed to be lonely, but I wasn’t. The sound of the thoughtless TV kept me company. My touchscreen phone which I loathed years before gave me solace. The mobile presence of my friends helped me pass the hours.

And then you came.

Without any warning, you effortlessly swept my feet away. Without any pretense, you poured it all out like the woman did on Jesus’ feet a perfume worth many months’ salary. Without any shutter, you captured the very core of connection. Without any hesitation, you opened up the most raw parts of who you are.

The clock struck two.

And if it wasn’t a weekday, it could’ve went on for more than three hours. This was a new feeling; something I knew was possible but never saw coming. If you told me this was the day something like this would come, I wouldn’t have believed you. But it did. But you did. The surprises of life take my breath away.

And then that empty lot.

I was expecting to meet you there, but you came to the temple and heard the Words that give life, just some hundred feet away from me. I was expecting a crowd of total strangers, sitting down, downing drinks, drinking their sorrows away.

Instead, it was just us two.

Buffalo wings and flavored beers. Shoddy seats and empty tables. A clear wall and a projector. There was nothing more romantic. It was more than I could’ve imagined. It rained ever so subtly. You told me you like it when it rains. I knew right then and there the night was nothing short of perfect.

“I usually come an hour before time.”

But you were late for ten minutes. I got free dinner for it. But then you had to beat me in Scrabble and tease that I owe you for losing. You never did say what the consequence was. Maybe I’ll never know, but it doesn’t bother me at all.

It’s getting cozy.

It shouldn’t feel this right, but it does. It shouldn’t feel this light, but heck it does. Why does everything have to be so effortless with you? Why does the rain keep showing up every time I’m right beside you? You know that adage, “we finish each other’s sentences”? For the first time, I actually get to experience it, and regularly. To you it’s scary, to me it’s funny.

I finally got to drive for you.

I wanted to learn how to drive for someone who is now gone, but now I get to do it for my family, my friends, and today, you. It’s the first time I got to 90, first time I drove past midnight, first time I sat on a lazyboy, and first time I got to meet your friends. At this point I badly want to be poetic, but the most poetic thing I could think of was you waited for me to safely arrive home when you’ve already been awake more than an entire day. And just for the sake of putting relevance to the topic, yes, it rained and we needed no umbrella.

High note.

“Love should be easy,” I kept telling my newfound friend. If you ask my hero, Kelly Clarkson, her lyrics say love is “like a petal falling to the ground, a dreamer following his dreams.” I knew I deserved that kind of love. And maybe this is it. If I had to bet on something, I’d bet on us. Six hours sitting beside each other, hands locked, your head on my shoulder. At my favorite place where I used to walk alone aimlessly, I’m walking alongside you today.

It was raining. And I don’t need that umbrella anymore. I’ll always have shelter long as I have you. Don’t worry, baby, let’s focus on the rain.


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