Nothing but the rain
The night’s wings had already embraced the building walls and a sensation of comfort immediately enshrouded my heart. I felt safe in night’s embrace, always had. My relationship with the darkness serene had always been a very special one.
“Night has a special way of bringing out the truth in people” I always said “because under darkness’ cover everyone is free to be themselves. Enemies show their true intentions while friends remain near with their soothing presence”.
Through the window, the streetlights convince the shadows to display an interesting dance of gray, beckoning me to approach the stained glass. Thus summoned, I heed their call and rest my head against the colored glass. With a hand, I crack the window open, inviting the late night breeze to chill my poorly dressed body. It’s one of those moments when my natural warmth doesn’t really come in handy. Yes, that’s one of the first things people notice about me … I’m always warm, no matter the real surrounding temperature, yet at this time, it has become rather uncomfortable.
The air smells like rain, a smell that I usually adore and this special moment is no exception. The smells sooths my spirit and tames my wild train of thoughts that seems to get pulled through my mind at high speed. Plans of the future, ideas from the past, all rushing through, giving me not a moment’s rest. I know that my mind, discipline through years and years of practicing meditation, could chase them away with a flick of a finger. But this time I do not want to.
Somewhere in the background, a song fills the air with soft and beautiful sounds. It’s Don McLean’s beautiful song, “Vincent”, a song that someone once dedicated to me. I fight back the memories, I fight back a tear. Time flew and I was left behind as it my sad blip of an existence failed to leave any ripple whatsoever in the fragile fabric of time and space.
On the window, my scented candle flickered and died, leaving behind it’s perfume, engulfing me in yet another strange sensation. Yet behind me came movement. I could not hear her but I surely could feel her, in my mind. My mind, my sick little mind, could help me feel her. I could feel her arms around me, her lips on my butterfly tattoo, her chest against my back, so that every breath of hers became mine.
“My Nightwind” she whispered in a soft voice and her voice became my everything. Her voice was the air that I breathe, the ground that I walked, the light that I saw, the music that I sang. Somehow I was reborn, I had purpose. I was hers.
In her embrace I did not attempt to turn around, but I stood there in silence, absorbing the moment with every fiber of my being. There was nobody else there, the world as we knew it, dirty, sick, dangerous, was completely absent and we were free.
“My Nightwind”.
Outside, a new days was dawning. A new world was coming to life. Above the horizon, the Sun began the throw away its arrows of light, dispelling the darkness, the spells of the night, kissing the blooming spring flowers with its warmth.
“My Nightwind”, I heard again.
I could not deny that call. I was hers.
“What do you hear?” she whispered.
“Nothing but the rain” I answered.