Holding you by your hands I urge you to come forward. The scent makes my head swirl with a new found feeling which only you can define. You say you don’t like the rain. I laugh at that, the kind of laughter that people save for their best friends, their close ones, their soulmates. I wonder now, what made it so easy, why didn’t my heart urge me to hold it back. I might have tried to fit you in one of the usual categories, but you are not the usual for me.
After your countless refusals, I manage to drag you into the ground, your feet soaking in the wet mud, the little puddles now starting to form. You look annoyed but you aren’t, you are enjoying, maybe a little, but enjoying nonetheless, just won’t admit it. Why wouldn’t someone admit if they feel home somewhere and that somewhere is not home? That somewhere could be right here, a person, looking right back at you with the biggest of smiles they can manage.
You are soaked wet, you don’t wish to dance with me. You find it “too childish”. Why don’t you embrace the child inside you. Oh yes, you claim to be all grown up, you are going to college this year. Who set these norms down? I find these norms “childish”.
I dance anyway, you look at me with a look I don’t recognise. Maybe I do. It’s a look that I don’t recognise on you. The way I look at the world with your existence, the way I look at you like you are the most prized possession I have in this entire galaxy, the way you look at your lifeline. I must be stupid, why’d you look at me like that? Why would the extraordinary example of the word extraordinary look at something so ordinary like me. It must be the rain, the water must’ve clouded my vision, the heady scent of you and the mud hindering my senses.
I continue the jump in the puddles that are ready to be splashed in the most wonderful way. I skip from puddle to puddle and there you stand your arms folded over your chest and you are no longer laughing just like you were minutes back, you are not shaking with laughter. I stop in the middle of the jump I was just about to complete and land into the puddle nearest to you. I lose balance and ready to fall head first into the muddy ground.
You catch me before I land head first in the mud, but you lose balance with me and fall right where I was supposed to be half a second back. You take me along with you. I don’t feel the pain of my hurt nose, I want you to be okay. Just like you want to breathe every second and protect your life. How’d you become as precious as my life. Maybe you are my life now. Just maybe.
We are both wiping mud of each other’s face and laughing through are partly muddy teeth. The mud doesn’t make you look any less beautiful than you already are. It’s just as the leaves fallen from the tree during spring. They are gorgeous even when they are no longer a part of the tree. You don’t need a tree to complete you, you are the tree, you are the leaves, still on the tree and on the ground.
Your white shirt soaked in brown is no more white, I joke about it and you comment on my sea green dress. You tell me how I am more like algae in the stagnant water. Just like your stagnating presence. I am neither green, nor brown. I want you to complete my green or my brown, I am incomplete without your fallen leaves.
We head inside, there’s no change of clothes for you. You just head back to the shower and appear in my big jumper, which fits you completely. Just like you fit my life completely. You fill all the spaces in my life full of baggy jumpers.
I take out a towel for you to dry your hair, you might catch a cold. You take the towel and start drying your hair. You tell me to get one for myself and I head back to the closet, I get another towel and I don’t see you. Were you gone to change or you didn’t like the rain all too much?
I see you just at that second. You made tea for yourself. You apologise that you didn’t make for me and I don’t mind. Why would I? You are my tea, all the warmth I might get from tea, all the soothing that tea might give.
You get another cup and we share the tea you made. Hundred things I could list that were wrong with the tea and just as that thought crosses my mind you say that yourself. You call it the worst drink you’ve ever tasted and I laugh along. Boy, would I love your mistakes.
We finish our tea quietly. Me, too happy and sated, you, on the other hand, too embarrassed. I get up and take our cups to the kitchen. You drag me back, you tell me to stay right there and the cups and the kitchen can wait. Of course they can, for you, anything could. I sit there and I look into your eyes, hesitant. What if you are uncomfortable, would I make you uncomfortable. Midst that soliloquy, you look into my eyes. The soul baring gaze that you have. Oh darling, I’d bare my soul to you this moment and you can keep it forever. Would you keep it though? Just don’t crush it, it’s in your hands. You inch nearer to me, just like I had always dreamed you would, is it still a dream? Can be, you are dream perfect. Dream perfect to me. You wipe the mud off my forehead and plant a little baby kiss there. And I turn red, so red that you laugh and you kiss me on the mouth, our first kiss. Better than my dreams, best at reality.
You pull back, still inches away from my lips, our noses touching just like our souls. I can hear nothing but your breathing and you pull me up against you and say,
“Let’s dance in the rain”.