I walk, lightly through the rainy streets, carefully stepping around each puddle, allowing rain to fall on me from above. I hold no umbrella in hand. It would almost feel inappropriate to put one to use right now. After all, it’s the nicest thing I’ve felt today. As I walk, I puff gingerly on my clove and enjoy the sounds of Regina Spektor coursing through my ear, into my head, and, through my blood stream. The night is so euphoric. And how strange a feeling it is, to know that you could die this very instant and be perfectly content. It almost makes you want to. But no one is lucky enough to choose the music to which they exit.
I love the way I look in this. So strange… I almost look like an artist. My phone vibrates, but I ignore it. It’s only a text, and besides, this night is not about anyone but me, and my imagination of course. My heart dances in the moment, but my feet do not, because they have spent the day searching for this feeling. All the tension and stress of the days before have finally passed, but my feet are sore.
I sit, but my eyes search for something new, as I watch the people pass by. Hand in hand the elderly ones walk, arm in arm do the young. It seems everyone has someone. I have my cigarette. This love will get me through the night. I’ll remain content.
Then she comes. Alone. Pensive in her thoughts, deliberate in her walk, and with curiosity in her eyes. How interested I become, to see someone who may be sharing in my euphoria. As if we were sharing a moment, together but alone. She counts each step, and in each one of her steps, I read a new thirst for thought. She is bold, but not nearly as hard to read as she’d like. She steps in a rhythm, but she does not dance.
Instead, it is I who dances, if only at heart. I feel so strongly the multitude of possibilities and the things we could share. I pretend she is my future love. The one I will spend the rest of my life with. And then I wonder if she sees me, sitting coyly. And if she does catch a second of me staring, does she even care? Is she too searching for love? Or is it something else she seeks? Something even more profound than love itself?
The rain does not give me the answers I seek. Instead, each drop becomes more deafening than the last and my thoughts become more disorganized. My heart dances again, but my feet continue to remain tranquil. I can barely remain reserved as they tap in the small puddle, but I dare not share my thoughts. I am only a stranger, and someone so stable and reserved does not need me to tilt the balance. Torn, I desire something new to confront the chaos. If only I could run up to her. I would say nothing and do nothing, except extend my invitation for her to dance with me. Then, this rain, this street, and this night, under the watchful eyes gazing down upon us from a celestial home, would welcome us both, unified. Our euphoria would take its next step, becoming something even more.
I watch the rain put out my cigarette and in a way it almost concludes my evening. I watch as she shivers in the night. The cold rain has nearly soaked through her clothes. The umbrella she carries is no competition for the wind she has faced. I have no jacket to offer her, so I only sit, moving on to the next cigarette and watch as you fade from the picture, and the next couple walks begins to approach. I pretend I never saw you, but in reality, I’ve never looked away.
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