I don't expect it to ever stop raining, not now that you are gone.
It was late evening by the time I reached the bottom of the dark wooded hill that was my home. There I had stopped in abrupt surprise on finding a brightly-lit meadow in front of me.
I had followed the flash of color that was you
through the thick undergrowth of the woods for hours in the mid-afternoon rain, never quite seeing you fully
and never quite catching up to you.
Now as I look across the threshold from shadow to light, I can see that you are not alone. There are people around you, beautiful people in exotic clothes. Though I can see the others in the happy throng, my eyes can't leave the light of your smile. You drift, slowly mixing in with the crowd, greeting friends and strangers. There is music in the clearing, someone is singing, and at the edges of the crowd there is dancing. I can see the whirl of motion and can hear the clink of glasses as well as laughter mixed in with conversations, but I am transfixed by the celebration in your eyes.
Standing at the edge, one-step away now from your brilliant world, I close my eyes and let the dark rain of my world wash over my upturned face.
When I open my eyes, you are standing at arm's length in front of me. "Are you thinking of the right words to say?", you ask.