the last time i remember it raining was two thursdays ago — puddle jumping at navy pier; meandering down the river and watching the city through a thin veil of mist that threatened to turn into a downpour at any moment. that was entirely too long ago.
tonight was one of the most beautiful nights i can recall this summer. it was one of those hot, rainy, humid nights — the ones in which the sky lights up as if with a new realization, every few moments– its enlightenment illuminating all the events and occurences simultaneously unfolding under its watchful gaze.
i spent the worst of the storm inside, lost in thought at barnes and nobles. it wasn’t until i was driving home, seeing the streets littered with souveniers from the evening’s weather that i really realized the intensity of the rains. i’m glad too — because, if i hadn’t been distracted by my book selections for the evening, i don’t know that i would have been able to resist the temptation to desecrate the evening by calling up a guy friend to spend it with in aimless pleasure.
evenings such as these, in which everything is muted and even the mosquietoes milling about the flourescent lights seem imbued with their own quiet sense of poetry — they demand raw, stark emotion to do them justice.
still mornings before the world has woken, dusks fragrant with flowers closing their blooms for the night, sunsets which capture those few seconds with, unfathomably, belong to neither light nor dark — all of those i can bear to share with something false. something, shiny and beautiful only in its novely and commodity.
but nights like these in which the sky cries hot, sticky tears, raging at his lover for reasons unknown to him and then tiring himself out and fading into silent sobs…eventually descending into a state of sated peace… nights like these call for love.