We all wait for rain.

I stand in anticipation, longing for it's soft release.  Apart from the others I smell the rain well before it reaches me.  Head held against the darkening sky, I remember.  I brace, holding the imprint of her gaze and can still feel her lower lip beneath my own, knowing soon the rain will wash that away.

The rain is so small it covers me.  I cannot and will not resist an intruder so small, so determined.

Whispers and droplets sting my skin as I stand against this necessary baptism.  Each droplet carries the promise of absolution and its quiet threat of forgiveness.  I do not yearn for salvation, yet I succumb without incident.

All I wanted was to remember her lip beneath my own but the rain has taken that away.

I drive quietly, Coltrane lulling me to the still meadows of my recent past.  I only listen when I can no longer resist the thought of her.  I listen too often.

The hum of the road beneath draws me into those darkened places I have so fiercely avoided.  I release myself to the memory of her flushed breath and parted lips.  I hold the wheel hard, pressing, as I once held her hips to my own.  I drive on, scarred with desire.  I am warmed by my despair.

Soothing murmurs quell my thoughts as the parched day slips into night.  I feel the cars pass, sensing they all drive with some unknown purpose.  I used to drive to forget but now the rhythm of the highway seams fills my body with a shameful desire and I drive on.  Faster.

I release the wheel, effortlessly letting the tires follow their predetermined path.  I listen and close my eyes.

I miss her smell.  I miss the crunched apple, dewy spring, delicious taste of her.  Eyes glistening.  Faint scar longing to be kissed.  Whispered, inaudible plans now abandoned.  Too much, a teary, hot wetness about her that finished one day and began another.

I miss the muffled dream and the stillness of her.

Dark hair glistening, her feet raced across the frigid winter sand.   We braced against the cold and imagined summer.   We, perhaps just I, will never feel the warm southern sun as it creeps across the gulf.   I will only yearn for the smallest glimmer on her skin, the light moisture that warns of the pressing heat held at bay.  

It is only memory now, that shuttered coastal town solemnly pining for spring.   I long for spring, only in truth, I know for me it will not come.   There is no season that will release me from the memory of those deserted beaches.  

I breathe.  I wrap myself in her absence.  I dream of Destin.

The wave, I understand so late, rumbles and looms larger than expected.
I wade forward in surrender.  Waiting.
Drawing closer, the tow low and powerful, I know that the shore is no longer attainable.

As the crest nears, I see in it things I am not prepared to face....
Regret, Sadness and Fear all churn violently as I seek passage.
Rise. Float.  I wait silently and accept.
I long to float above into forgotten still waters, peaceful currents.

The wave presses me close. I feel its chilling power and succumb.
I remember. Agonize over choices made and consequences realized.

Rise. Float. Dream of still water and peaceful currents.

Swim.

Without a word, emptiness.   The room is filled with her absence and I seek any forgiving breeze to carry from me the crunchy apple, dewy spring smell of her.  Random strands of hair on my pillow protest, demanding something I cannot comprehend.  I knew this could happen, it has before.  Fear and Love are intractable foes and only the true, clear heart wins this silent struggle.  Mine has not.

I am prepared.  I have courage and faith and will, yet Hope is the dark matter I lack that drains my resolve.  Weakness creeps over me.   I told her that Love is the only currency the soul understands.

Doubt.  

Looking west, across the water, I seek only patience and calm.  I feel small as I let a modest stillness ebb over me.   Determined and resigned, I vow to not regret, not succumb, but Love is the truest gift and without that I dread the sullen days and tortuous nights ahead.

Perhaps I was wrong seeking happiness with so little to give.  I had only Love to give and that was not enough.

I like flying west, straight into the collapsing day. I like the feel of chasing the sun. Not quite fast enough, of course, but for a few minutes the hope of keeping pace with the dying sun feels justified.

As day quietly slips into night it is both peaceful and sad. In the stillness above the clouds, unaware of the turning earth below, we fly our losing race in silence.