Longing

It’s raining. Like tears, the drops fall from the grey sky over a grey city, unable to clear the air and wash away the dirt on the ground. I walk the broken roads, dotted with muddy ponds, my clothes wet and my umbrella useless, my mind filled with thoughts as fast and grim as bullets. 

What am I doing here? 

Your image slides in my sight, where you are not but I would like to see you. In every corner of my view, I catch a glimpse of you which is but illusion. I long for the touch of your warm hands, held in the intimate darkness where our secret words flow like dreams, on the grass of an urban meadow, in the shade of a sleeping tree. I grieve in the memory of your scent, as I dry your long and silken hair, dancing in the warm blow of the phon, teasing and caressing my face, in the happiness of a hidden smile. I linger on the feeling of your body against mine, when I embrace you from behind and you teach me the names of the things we see inside the fridge, and in its cool breath we find the warmth of each other’s skin. 

Where are you, now? 

The loneliness of this day hits me like a gunshot in the stomach, my mind still lost in the impressions of our intimacy. It seems so long ago, now, almost a different life. 

I miss you. 

In the rain, I’m thinking of you.