It’s always sunny here. I miss the rain and white skies.
It was supposed to rain the morning I woke up beside him in his Brooklyn apartment. I felt excited for the rain the night before. When the first sound I heard was the hum of his air conditioner and not falling rain, I felt sad. I felt sad before even looking towards the window.
While I laid next to his motionless body - unmoving all except for the up, down of his chest from breathing - my face cushioned in between the crease of his neck and jaw line, I let myself imagine my body splitting and walking about his apartment. A more transparent, less cut image of myself moved around and walked towards the curtained windows. Lifting the curtains, I noticed overcast and turned overcome with calm. A calm that was not restful, but lonely. Not tranquil, but like absence.
I woke up most mornings feeling this way and the morning I woke up in his apartment, I felt this and I felt guilty. Like I knew exactly why the rain never came, but I decided to keep the secret to myself even though I knew he’d like to have known.
While I watched my part walk around the apartment tossing over dirty cargo shorts and APC button down’s and patting new, glossy curtains, I also watched it come back into its other half - mine - and I awoke entirely. I looked towards him and looked towards his closed eyes.
“Good morning.” I let my words fall out as whisper over his head and I swear he smiled at me. It was a smile you don’t find in strangers, but in those who know what your morning voice sounds like - those who leave you be when you’re feeling crestfallen. A smile that feels very familiar. At ease.
And today I find myself in California, missing the mornings I’d spend with him in his Brooklyn apartment and the nights I found myself giddy with anticipation for rainfall and cloudy skies. I keep hearing that California is suffering from some sort of drought, but I don’t care. No. Now I don’t fall asleep into dreams of rain.
