Blue Monday

The rain pours down. Through every crevice, every pothole, crack, hole in the wall, it seeps, dripping, saturating the world. The floor runs with it, an eddying mass of swirls and reflected light. The buildings droop under the constant attack, sagging under the pressure, crumpling in on themselves. The clouds loom overhead, impenetrable in their dark, looming form, angrily spitting down at the sodden life below as if they’ve done something wrong.

Evening wants to drown in it. She wants to lose herself and sink, sink, sink until she hits the bottom and there's no life in her anymore. She wants the tide, and the crashing waves to sound overhead, thundering in her ears until she can’t hear anymore. She wants the water to consume her, to envelop her mind and cease all thought. She wants the end, the relief, the finish line. She wants the rain to pour on and on until all she can see is water and all she can hear is the constant patter patter of the drops splashing onto the ground.

Oliver wants to stay dry, to watch the rain from the safe haven of the bookstore. Maybe have a cup of steaming hot chocolate in his hands and a friend chatting to him. He wants to have the security of knowing that he’s immune to the weather outside. He wants a fire crackling in the fireplace. The love of his life just within sight.

But he doesn't want the rain. He wants the security.

But she doesn't want the security. She wants the rain.