It tickled and danced around us. Not like the day rain. She was hell. She was too strong, too stingy, and overbearing. She was confused, stuck, searching and not finding. And I saw all these other people watching the day rain too. The doorway guy, the booth one, and that old man on the stool. Did they see what I did? Were they also hoping the rain would wash away something it did not? Or maybe it’s just a reflection of who I was with my face mashed against that faded wooden frame, pushing forward to feel her spray. Why am I always seeking that, that just-out-of-reach thing, that which will make me deeply happy and calm?
What am I lacking right here and now? I’m traveling the world, have no health, money, or relationship problems (besides the one I create in my mind for my own dramatic enjoyment). I do what I want, when I want. I’ve three unbelievable kids and the greatest gift in this Universe husband, and still, I gaze at the rain and feel a desperate emptiness gnawing in a silent whisper of desire.