Opposite of Infinite

- 11 -

11 - Paris in the Rain

I went to Paris once, in the dead of winter,

with my kids and my husband

who wasn't you.

we held an umbrella above our heads,

one for the four of us,

feet peeking out from under the cover

almost as if they wanted to taste the rain.

cold teeth eating through the layers we had attempted to protect ourselves with,

the sky holding only gaping holes of grey

that destructed in the sort of explosion that leaked debris in the form of saltless tears

all over the temporary roof we held above our heads.

shaking with the sheer force of the pelting it was recieving,

each drop bouncing off the dark material

and splintering into smaller, tiny droplets

like shattered glass that had been the victim

of an angry fist.

falling to the ground and somehow capturing the scene before them

in a sort of unclear reflection of the moment.

a little like a buried memory.

my little girl was giggling as she splashed through puddles,

unaware or perhaps uncaring to the bitter weather as she flicked the dirty water

all over both me and her younger sibling.

gripping tightly onto my hand.

and he had smiled at me,

the curve of his lips as handsome as the face they rested on

as he shook his head in amusement.

and I had smiled back,

wishing I could take a picture

but afraid the lens would get damaged.

my socks were wet.

and then, there it was,

towering and dominating the landscape

as it stretched up into the sky,

unbeknownst to the flooding around it

as it continued to stand tall.

unwavering.

a little like my love for you had been,

I suppose.

please note the past tense.

because it is in times that I feel those icy shivers

that I remember

what it felt like to be warm,

wrapped up in those three words

that enclosed around me

like a jacket given to a girl

from the one person

who would prefer her comfort over his.

sometimes, I still wonder if that's you.