I miss our walks in the rain,
when we used to live
in wonder and anticipate
the future, when we used to step
on water and laugh,
happy in that moment
of togetherness
and completeness,
away from the abject world
that poses questions
and answers,
in our own little
wonderland,
seemingly unaware
of the possibility
that things may go wrong,
and conscious of the faith
that great things are to come.

I miss our walks in the rain
holding each other's hand,
only to wriggly free
and skip ahead,
only to hop in merry;
leaving one to watch,
one to wait,
not always together
in battling life's
undue favors of time.

I miss our walks in the rain
for when it poured,
we'd wait,
holding time still
by sheer will,
unafraid;
not of the consequences
but of bearing them,
for isn't that what
the walk was all about?
It was us preparing
to march ahead,
with our head held high
into the storm,
unswayed.