(found in a muddy, halfway-dry puddle)
Sometimes I wonder whether the storm is passing because – for such a long time – it felt as if it had decided to settle right above my own head. I used to wonder whether the sun would come out, but then I saw it peeking through the cloud a few miles away, far away from me.
Now I am sitting on a bench in a park, looking out over a quiet pool of water. There is a fish swimming. I wonder if it sees me too. I packed up my umbrella and put it on the ground beside me. The rain stopped.
A crisp beam of sunlight just poked through the clouds, Nick, and I swear you were right beside me. It felt warm, for once. Warm and soft, drying my cheeks.
If it were a picture – and how I wish it were – I would always hold it with me, always in my hand until it became crinkled and worn, until it started to fade. Even after it faded – all things fade, Nick, we know that – but even after it did, I’d hold onto it. I prize it. I’d treasure it.
I have so much trouble letting go of the faded things. I worry that no one else will care for them. I worry that, if they’re dropped upon the ground, no one else will pick them up, and they’ll have to die alone. So I don’t drop them, and – if I see a faded thing lying in the dirt – I pick it up. Maybe it will become bright and warm again.
If only things were different! And why does the sun insist so often on hiding in its sky?
I am so sorry that I cannot see you at the moment, but it feels impossible. It is hard to explain, but I hope you are able to understand.
Today the sun is out, however. It is warm, and it is smiling.