I’ll never see your face again

As I clean out my Jeep, tossing water bottles half full, and coffee cups tattooed with lipstick around the rims, I find two umbrellas on the back seat. It takes me a second to remember why they are there and then I see one of your long blond hairs clinging to the black one…

Do you remember rushing into that restaurant when the clouds, cloaked in black, smothered the sun and the rains spilled forth like long glass wands shattering on the streets, creating the clear crystal puddles we hopped hand and hand over? Do you remember the conversation as the first beer came and the first moment went down? Do you remember talking about everything and nothing at all and not even noticing that the sun had already flung the clouds aside and shook the rain from its molten coat and the streets had some time ago dried? I do.

There could have been many more days like that. There should have been more days like that. There shouldn’t have been thoughts about where the days were leading but only that they were. Sometimes the mind works against the moment and skips to moments that have never been and then the moment that we are in is gone. I never expected anything and well I guess I wasn’t disappointed.

Now I stand in the driveway holding the umbrellas and wonder if the rain will ever fall so hard again and if I will even notice the next time I see the sun and the streets are once again dry…