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Description
What I remember about that day is that it was raining.

~

There was a steady pattering sound, the kind that might be pleasant on a windowpane, but is simply dreary if it comes from a host of mud puddles nearby.  Unhappily, that moment did not occur on the warm side of a closed window, but in the middle of an expanse of soggy red-brown earth.

"Hello..."

Drip, drip, drip.

Water gathers at the edge of the roof and spills over, narrowly missing the two of us as we hide from the rain.  Unsuccessfully--the gutter is a lacking shelter in such a torrential downpour.

"Can we be friends?"

Plop, plop, plop.

He is saturated with droplets; they roll down his face like minuscule rivers, and his clothes are dark and shiny with moisture.  Clear rivulets sluice from the pores of his hand as it takes my equally waterlogged one.

"I want to be with you."

Splish, splish, splish.

My thoughts stray perilously towards the past--I am reminded of equally rainy days, when we first crossed paths, when we first became friends, and when we first fell in love.  On wet, tumultuous days, our past (our, more than just mine or his) unfolded.  The days, like water pooled in our hands, slowly slipped away to nothing.

"I can't come back anymore."

Patter, patter, patter.

We belong to each other now, he says, taking a plain ring from his pocket and placing it on my hand.  All I can reply is a smile, knowing it's too late now, knowing we both regret not having the chance to do this properly.  Knowing we wouldn't change a thing.  Knowing, most of all, that we had always belonged to each other anyway.

"Don't forget me."

Splat, splat, splat.

~

And then we walked out into the rain, to the end of our fairy tale.  Standing there, in the incessant storm, soaked to our bones, I held him as he died.

Description
What I remember about that day is that it was raining.

~

There was a steady pattering sound, the kind that might be pleasant on a windowpane, but is simply dreary if it comes from a host of mud puddles nearby.  Unhappily, that moment did not occur on the warm side of a closed window, but in the middle of an expanse of soggy red-brown earth.

"Hello..."

Drip, drip, drip.

Water gathers at the edge of the roof and spills over, narrowly missing the two of us as we hide from the rain.  Unsuccessfully--the gutter is a lacking shelter in such a torrential downpour.

"Can we be friends?"

Plop, plop, plop.

He is saturated with droplets; they roll down his face like minuscule rivers, and his clothes are dark and shiny with moisture.  Clear rivulets sluice from the pores of his hand as it takes my equally waterlogged one.

"I want to be with you."

Splish, splish, splish.

My thoughts stray perilously towards the past--I am reminded of equally rainy days, when we first crossed paths, when we first became friends, and when we first fell in love.  On wet, tumultuous days, our past (our, more than just mine or his) unfolded.  The days, like water pooled in our hands, slowly slipped away to nothing.

"I can't come back anymore."

Patter, patter, patter.

We belong to each other now, he says, taking a plain ring from his pocket and placing it on my hand.  All I can reply is a smile, knowing it's too late now, knowing we both regret not having the chance to do this properly.  Knowing we wouldn't change a thing.  Knowing, most of all, that we had always belonged to each other anyway.

"Don't forget me."

Splat, splat, splat.

~

And then we walked out into the rain, to the end of our fairy tale.  Standing there, in the incessant storm, soaked to our bones, I held him as he died.