Something about the way the rain comes falling down is mysterious and cool as ice on flesh. The grey light filtering through dust-stained windows fills the room with secrets. The television adds an undertone to the proceedings. A sense of waiting for the storm to pass so my journey can begin. Thunder stumbles across the sky in electrical blue flashes several heartbeats before. Tense and nervous, want to get on the road and get going to my home which waits empty for me.
I hear you impatient in the next room, cooking eggs and clearing your throat. Rehearsing in your mind some little speech, some pearl to hand me in hopes of making me spend the day. The eggs smell awful. I hate the smell of fried eggs. There's something in that smell that makes me think of puking and mornings after. But, you wouldn't know that. I never shared likes or dislikes with you. I was always too timid, too afraid to tell you things like that. To share. No wonder you never knew me. I never bothered to let you in on things. I just pretended to be who you wanted there beside you. The pepper smells good though. I love the smell of pepper even though it makes me want to sneeze.
Pictures on the mantle of you and your family draw my eye. None of me. There have never been pictures of me up there. How to explain that to mommy and dad? To your kid when he comes to stay a few days during the summer and on that odd weekend. Cute kid. Looks a lot like you. Lots of pictures of him. As there should be.
A cool breeze drifts through a cracked window. Wet and moist it smells that fresh way wind does during a good heavy rainstorm. I love rainstorms on Saturday mornings. What better time to linger in bed, hiding beneath the covers, not sleeping, just laying in bed and studying the ceiling and one another. How many mornings did we do that? Laying there in silence, our legs entwined, breathing deep and steady. I felt close to you in those instances. So close. I felt drunk on you. Couldn't get enough. Kisses and cuddling, something playing on the stereo utterly washed out by the falling rain so it was nothing other than a steady undistinguished noise. Your morning stubble was scratchy, but that was nice too. That seemed like love to me.
Here and now I am wistful for those times, wishing we could find them again. I know you'd like that too. You're single again. Another girlfriend has come and gone, leaving you with the question you always answer with me. You want me back. I'd like to be back in all honesty. But, I'm not that person anymore. Not that you knew me then anyhow.
Outside the rain continues to fall and in the end it washes everything away.