the best thing one can do when it's raining

Tonight, not unlike every other night before and most certainly after, I mumbled yes, took your outstretched hand and permitted myself to chase you, underneath the shifting skies and the arrival of rain-season.

I guess I've gotten used to treading those arid streets of mine that run themselves straight, true and uncontroversial. Each step, each day, earning by modest labor, the dream that beckons us, one and all.

Then you changed that, the scorching pettiness of everyday. You took my hand, pulled me out and lead me through the puddled alleys and corridors of your life. You showed me a splashing good time, and I wondered when it'll end, like most good things do.

So I skipped along and lived and laughed as much as I still could, drinking the unbridled mirth and enjoying each drop of joy like it'll be the last.

But afterward, once all the pattering chatter, the gushing exuberance of each meeting had faded like the storm's morning after, it was still you at the end of the day. Still your hands in mine. It didn't seem like you'll be letting go.

And by some unexpected magic, by some happy twist of fate, like unexpected rainfall and the comforting murmur of water through eaves, I kept in-step through the shimmering avenues of you.

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain, so they say. So I'll acquiesce and later be better for it.