Late Night Thoughts

Rain (Jealous: pt. 1)

"I'm jealous of the rain, that falls upon your skin. It's closer than my hands have been. Oh, I'm jealous of the rain" Labrinth, Jealous

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He moved swiftly though the rain, almost like he was dodging bullets. She watched him from a distance, wondering how it was possible for someone to dislike the feeling of the clear droplets bouncing off of their skin.

She didn't realised that he watched her, too.

He wondered how she could sit, lifeless, while pellets of water attacked her skin and drenched her clothes.

If she sat in the rain, maybe she could drown in something other than her own thoughts. But no one understood that.

No one understood her.

The blast of wind and rain made her face burn and her eyes sting, but she barely noticed. She sat on the rusty bench that portrayed little emotion, eyes glued to the dark-haired, blue eyed teenaged boy that she knew would soon be moving out of sight.

He continued to slide through the crowds (she decided 'slide' would be the appropriate word), until he reached his house.

He felt safe when he opened the wooden door, a familiar smell making his stomach rumble. She wished she could say the same.

She felt safer swarmed by people, out in the open, than she did when she entered her house. Because it was just that - a house, not a home.

His old cottage was small and some-may-say plain, but it was decorated with love - lots of it. Despite not being financially comfortable, some how they were the most comfortable family he had ever seen, and that's all he could ask for.

Her family may had more than the average middle-class family, but money can't buy happiness, the one thing she lacked.

She remained seated on the bench for hours after he left, barely even noticing the stares going her way. She didn't care any more.

About anything.

He cared, though. He cared too much.

He cared that she sat outside in the cold, alone. He cared that she didn't even look cold, because he wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing.

He cared that she barely flinched when a gust of wind smacked her in the face, and that she didn't seem to take notice that people were looking at her. He cared that she didn't notice him.

She didn't care about anyone or anything, yet she found herself longing to see the boy's face. Her eyes would never move from the bench on the other side of the road. He was the only thing that could start a spark inside her - the spark that would fade away when she returned to reality.

The reality that he would never notice her.

Her reality was different to his. So very different.

They were different.

Her green eyes and blonde hair contrasted his blue eyes and brown hair almost perfectly. Her eyes were lifeless, at first glance, but he'd glanced enough times to see the life in them. The life that was once apparent for all to see, but had now withered down to a star in the sky.

His eyes held emotion. She couldn't always decipher what emotion, but she didn't need to. She knew that not everything in life needed to be black and white. Some things could be grey and she was okay with that.

So was he.