Raining You

Stay a while and look closely.

 

There she goes again. That strange little lady is walking through the rain with her head down and her shoulders slumped as she frantically tries to avoid the stares of the passers-by, observing with a tint of wonder in their hearts. She’s not looking. She’s not talking. Just staring at the ground aimlessly as she tries to reach her destination, soaking wet from head to toe as creases start to form on her uniform.

Have you looked closely? Good, a smile’s starting to form on your face

You smile mildly, careful not to let her see because her silent walk and empty eyes hide a slow dance through the pitter-patter of the droplets from the sky. She looks frantic and troubled, but she would laugh. Oh, how delighted she would be! When she laughs after getting through the rain, there are no regrets. And you smile knowing that because that’s how she is.

Then she digs her phone out of her pocket. It was a cheap phone, not too expensive and a dying breed at this day and age. Her fingers move through the keypad. You wonder who she’s texting. She looks stressed and tired, but nonetheless, content. She was responsible and kind and endearing, as she tries to contact her superior because she knew him and he knew her, and she was his chosen assistant. And it made her weak, it made her burdened, but she does it, anyway. She contacts her co-workers, announces schedules, organizes the attendance of each and everyone, and the screen of her phone gets wet and dirty with fingerprints, but she’s fine.

Your smile twitches for a little bit, pity taking over you, but then you remember that she loves adventure.

And she doesn’t bring umbrellas because the rain will always be an adventure. She tenderly blossoms into a lovely young lady, as elegant as a garden of roses; happy as the sunflowers; pure as the snowdrops and then you watch. You keep watching. She runs through the hallways of the university, late for class and she runs late to work. Exhausted and sleepy as she yawns and complains for her inability to sleep at night, her mind insisting her to wake up at 2am and browse through the internet, watch videos, play games, talk to close friends who are still awake, tell herself stories, and sing lullabies until she falls asleep at 4am where she dreams. She dreams of the comical and impossible; of the strange and scary.

You pause. You hold a hand to your heart.

Then she dreams of you. Always you. At the end of the day, it’s still just you. And you keep watching from afar, afraid of what she would say when she catches you looking. Caring. Loving. And you hope she doesn’t and she’s blind and dense and witty and happy without you. And she doesn’t notice you. She won’t notice you.

Because she knows. As she walks through the rain over and over. She knows.

That once upon a time before the world ends, you’d be back with an umbrella and you’d walk home together again.

And she’ll shake her head and laugh and call you weird, a sparkle in her eyes and a tinge of happiness in her heart, before closing the umbrella as she takes you by the hand and you run through the rain together.

 

Because you stayed a while and looked closely.