flashes of rain. an empty dormitory hallway. hurried footsteps and puddles forming. the squelch of wet sneakers against marble. hesitating. then, a kind voice. black umbrella, soft hands. nodding, stepping into the downpour, scrunching together underneath the quiet circumference. the heat of bodies pulsing, shoulder to shoulder. heart hammering faster. small talk about bus stops and california. ignoring the flooded streets. ignoring the soaked shoes. focusing on that gentle, curious voice, the kindness that only comes when you’ve found something good in this world. falling a little bit in love. falling back out, shaking, realizing that it’s a little bit ridiculous. i don’t believe in love at first sight. or maybe i do. stepping into the concert hall. shuffling toward seats. sitting next to one another. drifting away from the music, forgetting who is on stage playing chopin or bach or something. idly noticing how the stormy light slants against the concert hall windows, how the rain slips in for a tender duet. idly noticing that her hair is sprinkled with drops of water and she looks nice. idly thinking, i hardly know what love is, anyway.
remembering all of this and laughing in my gut, because i don’t know if she’ll read this, but if she will, she probably won’t remember (at least, not this version). the days will stretch on and this small moment will fade and yet i don’t care. as long as it was there. as long as i felt it.