There are several drops of water on my phone’s screen, some from the clouds, some dripping from my hair and glasses. I took it out as I stepped out of the car and was reminded of you as the cold Autumn rain hit my cheeks.
You love the rain. I picture you dancing, soaked, your spinning hair a prayer to the gods, your hands up and out saluting the wind, your unshoed and rain-washed feet stomping the earth-a bridge between soil and storm.
If I raise a hand, will that get me closer to you? Even inches closer, connected by drops from the same clouds, by howling wind from the same sky?
How long has it been since I held you, smelled your hair, and cursed myself for being bad for you? Too long and not long enough, because all I want to do, standing a drenched fool in the rain, is hear your voice.
But I deleted your number.
There are several drops of water on my phone’s screen, and nothing else.
Thanks for reading,