“Let’s pick these flowers”,
She whispers, leaning down to meet my face, as we walk back from the shops, noticing wild roses growing against the pavement.
‘Isn’t that stealing? Someone will see us!’
I am in shock.
“It’ll be dark and no one will see us!”
As she laughs, I hear coins falling onto the pavement. She is so silly, I giggle to myself.
She is back at her childhood home to take care of us. Her newborn daughter, my youngest cousin is just a babe. She smells of breastmilk and baby powder.
How long does she stay? A month? Two months? As a child, I have no sense of time, and I wish for our time to never stop. My only wish is for the days to continue. As is. This moment, locked in eternity.
Her husband impatiently calls her back to the big city.
Tomorrow, I will leave, she says.
Tomorrow, it rains.
With the baby, traveling on buses, it’s too much. So she stays, waiting for the rain to stop.
The next day, when the rain stops, I will be on my way.
It rains again and again and again.
I wish for the rain to continue.
To never stop. Because for as long as it rains, she cannot leave.
I run home everyday, to make sure she is home, and when she’s still there, I feel a sense of relief.
One morning, she says her good-bye. This time, I mean it. I am leaving, she says.
It’s still raining, and so, how can she leave? I don’t believe her. It’s been raining for days. Hadn’t she repeated the same words in the past?
I run home in the drizzle, rain softly falling on my face. My feet splashing the ground, passing the spot where the flowers used to grow.
Pushing the sky blue gate open, I run up to the steps, kicking off my shoes. With my right hand, I turn the metal doorknob. I can smell them, and with a sense of hope and dread, I swing the door wide open.
Tidy and clean, with no trace of their belonging. Filling every crevice of the room, their scent lingers. Silence rings hollow, in this room, where I used to sleep, cradled into my own mother’s embrace, with my sister next to me. I miss the cooing and crying. The sound of life itself.
I am at Father Coffee, unearthing memories of past days.
Rain from that day, mixed with tears, washes over me.
I dedicate this love letter to the rain. For pouring for days. Let it rain.
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