Love

You and the Rain: A Story of New York City

I’ll always remember you standing in the rain, waiting for me.

I’ll always remember you standing in the rain, waiting for me. The city lights were golden overhead, fighting through the gray drops of water as yellow cabs and black cars sped by in blurred flashes of red tail lights.

Even in the cold and wet, everything felt alive. The fine curls of mist that rose from the grates, the swishing of tires as they glided over puddles. People milling about, umbrellas unfurled, huddled in their jackets. You were standing there with your broken umbrella the wind had torn apart just before I found you.

I remember all the details of you, how the raindrops glided down your cheek, and your hair curling across your forehead. I remember the pleasure that lit your eyes as you watched me walk towards you, the smile that bloomed like the dawn across your face as you greeted me. I remember the strength in your arms as you wrapped them around me, pulling me into your warmth. I remember the hard feel of your chest, so solid that I thought this is what feeling safe must be. I remember the scent of you — spice, sandalwood, bergamot. Clean. And male.

You were what men were supposed to smell like, I thought as I held onto you for a second longer. Your scent flooded my head, imprinting onto my brain until I could know you anywhere. And I fell a little bit deeper into you, unwilling to let go, but afraid to hold on too.

The world around us had made us tired, hanging onto our souls like old rags that wore us down; but somehow, with you, I felt the sun light. I knew the stars and the wind that blew across the ocean waves. With you, the mountains rose before the sea and I could stand there forever, embracing the wildness of freedom.

But as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay forever. You were too foreign, too much change too fast that I lost my breath, my sense of direction spinning out of my control. And in my heart, I didn’t think I deserved it. I didn’t think I deserved you.

So on another rainy afternoon, from my high tower, I watched you standing on the streets below and I waited. You called me once. Twice. But I was a coward. I crossed oceans and mountains to explore the world, but I could not cross the street to be with you. And as the rain fell, washing away the dirt and memories of yesterday, I watched you walk away.

I sometimes think of you, never knowing how I felt for you. But maybe you did. Maybe you were just waiting for me to say it first. Maybe I should have run out of my office building into the rain, called out your name, found my courage and begged you to wait. Under those red and yellow neon lights, I should have pulled you to me, closed my eyes, and told you how much I loved you, how scared I was to love you. Maybe you were scared too.

The night stretched long and lonely as the damp afternoon slipped into a drenched evening, every footfall against the pavement became an echo of the distance between us. So far away, so far gone now. If I could rewind, if I could draw you back, I would, but we’re worlds apart, a stretch of time, a measure of distance that can no longer be undone; but perhaps in my gentle way, if you are reading this now, know that I loved you too.