Saturday, September 30, 2017

Be for Me, Like Rain

Be for Me, Like Rain (M.A. Reilly, Wall Street, NYC, 2010)


For the longest time, I've loved rainy days, held them close to the heart as invitations to stay at home. Rob and I took solace at home. These were days to read, dream, sleep in, drink too much coffee, go for walks beneath an oversized umbrella, read the entire newspaper and puzzle over the puzzle, write and write some more, cuddle, watch a film, and talk.  But Rob has been gone so long that I have forgotten the sound of his voice. I recall the look of him with his head thrown back, hair falling down his back, mouth open, and I know he was laughing, but I can't recall the sound of him. 

Each day something is forgotten.


Today, I want to feel the heavy moist air settle in my hair as I walk out beyond the borders of what I know. I long for the grey day, the light-diffused day, a day when the Celt in me knows that the barriers between Rob and me grow thin. I imagine that I could then extend my arm, reach a hand out as he repeats the same movements from his side of the veil and we almost touch. But he is gone and the center I've know has drifted like clouds blown fast across a sky.

Each day something is misplaced. 

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