Do you remember the rain, love?
I try to not.
Why?
When I do, I remember the trees. The colors, the greens and greys. The heaviness of the air just before it. The smell when it finally hits the thirsty earth. I remember your smile. All the things I miss too much to remember.
I still smile.
Not like you did when you heard the first thunder of a storm.
Fair.
I really miss the way you'd come alive like that. You'd be at your desk, pen scribbling with the same speed as the splatters on the asphalt. Happy. The clouds, the rain, they brought out the life in you. They watered your soul.
Sort of a blatant analogy, no?
I suppose. But it's true.
...
*I want the rains to return.