Pulse of Loneliness

The sincere moments in my life are rare. By some strange fortune, most of them fall when it rains. I don't know what the sky has to do with my thoughts. When it rains, I fall silent. And if I must speak, if something demands words from me, I speak with the grace of those who run through dreams.

I know where I'm headed after the rain. More certainly than I ever would without it. Life feels like a necessary freedom to me. I hunt for light in puddles, in mud. I dig into the wet earth because I know light hides there too. Sometimes it does. Other times, it never comes.

Could we postpone any serious talk until the next rain? Let's step into it, laughing like two fragments of something the universe is about to squeeze from itself, pressed together. Inseparable. Let's warm each other that way. Let's keep silent. Any word would muffle the sound of our hearts beating. Rain brings you to me in all your forms. By the time I became what I am today, you were a dream. Then came the light. You walked beside my horizon. I've been waiting for more rain, waiting for it before dusk, so you could stay in this memory forever. You were in the desert. And every miraculous oasis remained there with you.

A sunset just after rain. No music needed. Only a purple mingling of the day's unfinished wishes. My insides are empty, and into that emptiness I place your colors, one by one. At day's end, I hold the purple close and think of you again. I wait. For myself, sometimes. For you, other times, never. It was raining when I told you I loved you.

It was raining when I wanted to say it. My first real conversation with my mother happened in weather like this. That's why I've never trusted what the sun-worshippers say. I order things in my own way, in so many ways. My own. Life is the sum of rain and stillness. Everything is the result of this. Just as, after any storm, a glass left outside will show you its fullness.

After sunset, the whole night moves through my heart like a train with shattered windows. Pure silence. A metronome counting the pulse of what doesn't exist. Out of nowhere, a kindred heart echoes the rhythm of rain. Real. Almost. It makes me feel like it's always raining. I'm honest. I crouch beside her sound.

The truest feeling is when you need say nothing. You need only listen to know yourself complete. Raining. Or did you fall in love? You can't tell. But you know their silence is the same. New rhythms take the pulse of happiness.