You loved me like
the monsoon loved the insignificant suburban town at mid afternoon in the heart
of July. A sudden, steady intensity, a deliberate, blinding love, with
thousands of droplets roaring the same simple promise of Forever. Thick with
the heat of passion, dense with the sanctity of happy ever after. The world
turns white, contained in a violent storm of Now. We are encapsulated in the
fervor of Eternity, never wavering under the pillars of thundercloud strength.
I cannot see
anything but this moment, you and I, our hearts beating in time to the brutal pitter
patter of downpour. Time has stopped as we breathe to the rhythm of the growling
grey skies, and of each other. I am suffocated by the humidity of your words,
yet I grapple to breathe in more. I struggle to remember a life outside of this
propitious, silver whirlwind. I don’t think I want to.
We could have
only been evoked by a rain dance, the final resort of a man desperate for love.
The universe has worked so hard for us to be, yet in an instant, we are gone—you,
are gone. The trees have surrendered their wooden thrones, and the sidewalks
guiltily reek of a damp, forgotten romance. Zeus watches, mouth agape,
bewildered and inexplicably wounded. When the Sun finally reveals itself again,
we dazzle in the specks of flint sparking in the concrete, begging to be
remembered. The storm has passed, and nothing is the same.
