7.4.18 After the rain
There is a type of loneliness that fits perfectly with heavy rain and an open window and climbing back into your Saturday bed with coffee and an ache. With all these things aligned, none of it needs fixing, not the rain or the loneliness or the inactivity, or the pull that rests somewhere between your heart and your thighs.
All get to thrum together comfortably with the kind of intensity that feels like being held, despite everything. And when the rain increases its tempo in a slow crescendo, when the volume switch is turned, it is like the rise of a kiss, and my breath catches just the same, just the same.