This downpour all over me.

The rain from this London storm drips down my face, so lightly. It makes me think of you, and all the times you traced my dimples with your soft fingers, and whispered words every man wants to hear, twirling my hair and tickling my neck, your lipstick finding a home on my chest, your legs intertwining with mine, while that howling wind slapped the rain on the window, the window alive from the heat of us, all the foggy words we wrote into it, like I love you, a million times over, until there was no more fog left in the pane, until I held your chin and brought you closer to me so I could feel your breath, and could see that sparkling smile in your eyes which always reminded me of falling in love with you in California.

I stare up into this London rain, not looking for shelter, but standing in the middle of it all, small puddles collecting around my feet, a newspaper blown from a stack near the corner street flipping by lifelessly. I think how sad that journalists in this London town have never met you, because maybe then they would stop pretending to make up the news, and would realize that writing of the way your hair glistens in rainfall is more inspiring than a thousand journalistic words; or how that affectionate pinch you give after you’ve had a few glasses of wine could lift up this dreary town and lift up all these people who look down at their feet with umbrellas protecting them from the rain that should fall on their faces; the people who slip and slide on these cobblestone streets while I slip and slide on this rainfall of you, soaked to the bone, wet and wild and the ferocious look on my face, the kind I get when I can’t fix something, this anger fit like the crazy black clouds overhead that send down all these torrents of rain, shadowing this London canvas with greys and muted colors that conspire to hide the sun.

And right when I am about to explode, right when everything is about to melt into a muddled blur no artist can paint with, the blue sky peeks from behind the clouds- like a child tiptoeing in midnight, quietly peaceful, so innocent, these blues- and fights the grey storm heroically, if only to give me a brief glimpse of the sun, to remind me that yes, you are gone, that yes, I am okay, that yes, I am finally living the kind of life I have meant to check off that list I have kept in the drawer of sometimes hiding optimism.


13 thoughts on “The Way Your Rain Feels

    • Hi Marieke! It means so much to me that you have had the chance to read my blog 🙂 I miss all of you at Branding Personality! Hopefully we will have a chance to Skype soon! Tell Rutger and the team I said hi!

  1. What words are drawn from the color of the sky, raindrops, clouds silently floating, movement of people, nature (ants pushing grains of earth this way and that). May expressions and interpretations continue to haunt you, nurture you, and enrich you as you live England and lifes journey! LIVE LIFE PASSIONATELY!! Dad

  2. This reminds me of a day in Vietnam spent riding my bicycle through a tropical rain storm, when the wind stung my face with horizontal blasts of water and the road alternated between mud and potholes a child could bath in. Soaked through to the skin hours ago. Reaching the hotel and standing at the foyer letting the day slowly drip off, white towels brought out by understanding staff now soaked too. And after a shower, dry clothes, and a meal, talking with the riding group and being the only person that enjoyed the day. Feeling invigorated and cleansed by the forces of nature that were endured. A baptism of nature.

    • Wow…what an amazing narrative! I could totally picture you there! Must have been quite the adventure. There’s just something about the rain that always puts me in a writing mood…I absolutely love it, and, being here in London, I am sure to get plenty more of it! Have a great night!

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