The Rains

how long have you loved me?

I ask. 

I never said that I do, 

they say.

but, how long have you loved me?

silence.

then,

do you know that feeling of clarity, 

they say,

just before it rains when you know that it is coming but it has yet to crash upon you? when all of your being is so completely sensitive, as if you have just left the womb. you smell the waters condensing miles above your head, perhaps even already beginning their descent to meet you. the air feels your breath like a lover’s cheek. and there is this absence of sound. no, this dampening, hush of the world all about, that feels like the softest of embraces, like it is watching you, a sleeping baby. and every part of you knows it is coming, and your skin is tingling in this heightened sensuality, and you are prepared at any moment for the first drop to grace you, and yet you wish you could stay here for just a moment longer, because the anticipation is what kills you so beautifully.

they pause.

but what do you mean to tell me of rain and love?

I ask. 

shh.

and then in a blink, the rain is all about you,

they continue,

falling upon your ears, toes, lips, and scalp. and you are inevitably entrenched in it, with no hope of escape untouched. and your skin is soaking up this moment, and its beauty reaches deep into your very soul, forever marked by it all, down to the single drop. and you realize you knew all along, in that moment of clarity before the rains. you knew how this would change you. and now with damp hair and streaking mascara you laugh because it is all so glorious.

they pause

and that is how I came to love you.

silence.

that is all very beautiful,

I say,

but how long have you loved me?

they pause,

how long have the rains been falling?