Before the Rain

The clouds rolled in wafting of damp air and the unusual possibility that rain may fall. It was one of those afternoons that crackled with electricity. A thunder cloud lingered nearby directing warm air currents and the occasional breeze. With it came the lingering smell of your perfume.

Not much was said that could not be understood. Your radiant self, your presence, the breeze weaving itself through your hair. It all made sense. In that moment, everything that could make sense, did.

For all we know, 20 years may have passed. My ears perked up to familiar French words and familiar jazz. It was all relevant, and it wasn't. The writer observed his surroundings, looking to make sense of the real and the dream.

Was the old couple our future selves? Every so often, I'd catch her glance. The silver-haired lady spoke with conviction, with passion and determination. She'd look back as if she watched a familiar figure. Perhaps someone who loved her long ago. Perhaps she found love, knocking at her door all those years back.

In front of me, I found happiness, I found zest, I found a passion not known to most. Yet, there it was, looking into my soul, deciphering my thoughts. And I would look back once in a while, to observe the silver-haired woman and wonder if they were one and the same.

Did the setting matter? It did not. We both knew, that the time shared was inexplicably much more layered. The subtleties around us were a reflection of this cascading connection. My counterpart. Drenched in curtains part beauty and part starlight.

The rain never came. Emotions swam. The writer observed and jotted down notes in the journal of the soul. Notes that matter. Notes that speak to what was shared. The eyes spoke volumes.

The embrace came after conversation and laughter; after a culmination of shared thoughts, shared desires and thing that resonate that cannot be ignored.

The embrace signaled so much. Eyes closed. Listening. Memorable. Deeply felt. A quiet dance.

It failed goodbye. It meant much more. The clouds rolled away giving way to the sun. The writer, with his heart joyous and true, just smiled. It was the greatest of afternoons.