Just Let Me Kiss You

I sat at my window sill, my feet curled up close to my body, watching as the rain fell. Hard and fast. But it was still beautiful. I've always loved the rain, the sound, the wet, the fresh air it brings and the grey rainbow it reflects. What is there to hate about rain? Only pessimists find the rain gloomy. I happen to be an optimist. And often times, an opportunist.

I jumped up, out of my seat. I glanced down at my clothes. An almost skin tight, baby pink 3/4 sleeve with some periwinkle, baggy, Eeyore pajama bottoms. I shrugged my shoulders and bolted for my door.

I pulled open my bedroom door, racing for the front door to the house. I slowed my run into a halt when my skin met the rain. It felt amazing to breathe the fresh soaked ground, to feel my flesh become renewed by the wet. My clothes and brown ponytail soaked. I haven't felt this free in years. It's been so long since I've just flat out ran out into the rain.

It was cold, but it felt so good on my skin. A smile crept upon my face, widening rapidly, upgrading to giggles as I faced the sky.

This reminded me of the old days when I was young, me and dad would run out in the rain. Our arms stretched out as far as we could stretch them. Racing around the soaking meadows. Laughing. Making memories.

The rain had always made me sad for the past five years, though. As it reminded me of him.

When I was 14, my dad was recruited to fight in the war, and died 7 months later. For 5 years I had dreaded the rain, while still enjoying it as it brought back fun memories.

I could feel as though my dad was standing right there with me. Embracing the rain.

"Sydney, what are you doing out here without a jacket?" The porch light turned on. My mother stood angry on the porch, "Get inside! God, you're soaking wet! I hope you don't catch a cold."

Way to ruin the moment, mom. I thought to myself. I stepped inside the house as mom threw a warm, dry towel over my shoulders.

My name is Sydney Ferme. I'm 19 years old. And this is my story.