It's raining again today. Drops as if all hell has broken loose. Or maybe someone has left the faucet open somewhere. I always disliked rains. Always, till I met her. Water is inconvenient, temperamental, whimsical, tempestuous. It flows in a barrage of emotions. Just like her. The one instant that I saw her, on a windswept morning, when the temporary halt of a city was drenching in an ungodly downpour. I happened to look out of my window at a non moving signal, and there she was, right beside me, staring out of hers. All she had eyes for were the descending droplets while the world outside was in throes of utter chaos. An unruly head of dark curls and a set of dreamy, unfocused eyes. Whenever it rains now, I remember her telling me how much she loves the soaked greens on the drive here. Yes, she was like water. Almost like a constant that moves and cleanses along it's path. She cleansed and revived so much of my light. On rainy, dripping mornings, I stare out of my window at her droplets. Or sometimes roll it down, to feel them against my skin. Rain has her spirit intact. If I close my eyes, I can feel her laughter, the twinkle in her eyes, glimpse that head full of curls, even if for a moment. Rain brings her back. Back to me like nothing does.
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