Mira in the rain

It was an evening like any other as I squirmed in my cushy chair, counting minutes until I could guiltlessly move away from work. It was like any other day until I heard a gushing sound by the window. A strong gust of wind was collecting pace, like happiness on your lips, quickening as I would inch closer to you. A gush like the goo that would fill up my throat as you’d playfully turn your face away, a mole conveniently placed on your chin to tease me just enough. There would be red on skin aglow, warmth in the pit of my stomach, disbelief in my head over every second passing, a trinket of your laughter ascertaining that this is not a dream. My legs take me to the balcony. The railing is cold, as would be your palms. The season’s first shower reaches me, packed and delivered with a giant dollop of you, your name, its two syllables, and you, two thousand miles away. I was almost done with work. It’s raining. Now what do I do with my hands? பாழாய்ப் போன மழை. ** You might enjoy looking at the pictures while listening to this number. Hit play. :)