June 5, 2014 by Wayne.
I hate rainy days.
Steam fogging glasses as I bend to sip my hot chocolate, gloves still in hand,
looking out past the tapping on the windows
The headlights smearing through sheets of water,
catching on the glossy fisherman parkas and undersized umbrellas
all a-flurry, steeped in the chill, uggs through snowbroth.
You said it’s hot out, and wriggled out of your shorts, and drew close, but it was cold as fuck outside and we fucked to the rhythmic thunder and spluttering off the windowsill
Worries may be deposited in the overmorrow
Inchoate fears delayed to a future date
Right now, we have us, and it’s alright
I watched the rain from my window,
scurrying patterns on arranged bonnets
I breathed in time and you
told me, once, how you would
make crayon figures
and read Peter Rabbit
when it rained
sometimes by the crackling wood
I go for a refill. Betty works the counter on Thursdays, which
isn’t to say we’re friends or close or anything really,
it’s just I tend to drop by every Thursday, and sit at my usual spot near-ish the counter, and she’s usually fine with one or two refills
She has a great smile. I guess that’s what people usually say, like you look better when you smile? Guess it’s empathy or some bullshit, like you relate to the outward signalling of happiness and instantly feel secure and happy too? Man, fuck that. Some people just look real fucked up when they smile. Knew this one guy whose face looked straight-up mangled when he turned those old corners up. Aint fucking with you here.
Lucky that Betty has a fine old smile, then. And great hair too.
She asks about you sometimes.
We were at the park once, resting at the bench after a few rounds
You said: what if you stay on? I know it’s an option. I know you’ve thought about it. This past year was hard enough, what’s going to happen then?
Look, I don’t – I don’t know, isn’t this enough? Can’t we just deal with it when it happens? I’m happy – with us. Aren’t you happy?
We watched the drizzle puncture the fluorescent night
I guess what I wanted to ask was:
Don’t you love me?
Isn’t that enough? Love?
That great mythical force of nature that will bathe us in a new religion, absolve our sins of doubt, feast on our offerings and sacrificial tithes?
But come on, fuck,
I can’t ask that.
Can’t trust any answer to that.
Can’t ask it.
God, I fucking hate rainy days.