I could really imagine…

I could smell her hair; the same, familiar scent of sweetness, like a chorusing whisper of a million flowers.

I could feel her close to me, feel her feel my heartbeat. Feel her warmth, and feel her cold dissipate in my embrace.

Feel her cheeks soft onto mind.

Feel her filling me. Feel her coursing into every corner of my body and soul that never knew the things that she could give me, and feeling whole. Feeling full. Content. Blissful.

Feeling loved.

I could really imagine…

But that is as far as imagination would go.

And at its wake, I only get a longing. A very strong longing.

The rain was crazy.

It came down in sheets, and if I tried to divert myself away from the gentle music in my ear I would’ve managed to deduce a certain form of rhythm in their falling. Like waves. Like billows of velvet curtains under a benign wind. But it was heavy. It was rough, violent, wrathful. It was scary, to be honest. That was why I took to stop myself at the shops to wait for the rain to subside. I had the window down a crack, and through it stray strands of the tearing squalls outside made into my car. I put my fingers to it. Chilly.

I was lucky. I reached my car when the rain took the heavy turn, and it wasn’t until I took the road back home when the rain became a storm. Had I went to the photo exhibit at KLCC like I planned earlier, I would’ve ended up stuck at the station, waiting for the downpour to stop.

It was crazy. I couldn’t see anything a few meters away. Somewhere up Bukit Mewah I saw palm leaves literally ripped off their barks by the winds. Waste baskets were tossed onto the roads and I had a Chinese lantern rolling after me. At one point I had branches falling on the roof of my car. Nothing big or damaging, but it unnerved me enough to make a detour towards a row of shops at Taman Zamrud, where I stopped to wait.

I had my Mp3 on, which quite conveniently had run itself into the English-songs half of my playlist (the first half jam-packed with J-rock and anime tracks), so I could sing along a bit. It ends tonight (All American Rejects) flitted through, and I hummed together with David Bowie’s Heroes (not knowing the words). Then Confidence (For you I will) played.

And I felt myself falling silent, glancing out at the lashing rain.

I felt sad.

I felt like I’ve seen her tearful. Three times in my lifetime now, and every time it was battle with self-control to not fling my arms over her, soothing her (I’d imagine her going into an epileptic shock, then throwing me a jaw breaking punch).

I hate to see her cry.

Not that she ever did. The most I caught was a glistening of tears she must’ve fought hard not to well. But it was enough. I would become a useless, petrified person. I would try to cheer her. I would think of consolations, but what use were those, when I know not the things I had to console. All I could do is say a few words. Hopefully get her talking. A smile, at best. Then I can pretend that she’ll be fine for a mo, or at least not as desolate.

Pretend. Huh. A soothing of my own troubled thoughts. What good is pretence?

I mouthed the chorus.

For you I will.

The rain dimmed a little. Enough for me to make a run for home. I started the car and drove slowly back. And then the rain stopped completely.

The sun was beautiful at that time. But I think no one noticed. No one really looks up to the sky after a rain, and understands that after a downpour, the sky is most beautiful.

After the rain.

I guess I’ll wait.