December Rain

I remembering telling Tim, a friend in college, that I could never be with someone who wasn't thrilled by rainstorms. After that, it simply became part of the test.

I even had this picture on my mind.

Browsing classic books in a bookstore, then reading together, probably in a cozy coffee shop or restaurant away from the busy life of the city. The rain would hit the dark pavements just right after we step out of the store and decide to go home. There will be no umbrella on sight. Instead, I would look at you, think of that conversation with Tim, and wait for your response while I let my senses engulf the sound of water trickling down, of thunder rumbling from afar.

I'll ask you, "so what do we do now?" You'll say "Run!" and grab my hand. We'll dash around the crowd of busy working men, splashing our way till our bodies are soaked. You'll take the lead, and I'll start to loose my sprint. But you'll look back; you'll stop and wait for me to catch up, for me to take your hand again; for two estranged lovers to continue to run under dark clouds, drenched and enchanted. And I'll take that as a sign.

But then, growing up is inevitable,for some part devastating. Movies turned out, not to be just a suspension of disbelief, but an extension of how frustrated a man can be with his own image. Life has crossed its road; love might have left behind;

but unexpected thunderstorm in the middle of a sunshiny day would never loose its charm.