Since this is my first time to create a blog and for lack of anything better to say, I will post something that I wrote about two and a half years back.

It’s raining. Pretty hard actually. I can almost sense the puddles forming outside, in the cracks and potholes and depressions of our street, I can hear the rain pummeling the roof and the water streaming, like little waterfalls, down the edges or pouring down the drainpipe where leaves have laid undisturbed for months. I can hear the water hitting the ground and splattering all over. I can almost feel all those little droplets, forming and coalescing into little rivers where they will eventually meet the gutter and fall deep into sewers. Or collecting into puddles, where they will stay the rest of the cool night only to be taken by the heat of the following morning. It reminds me of playing, singing, dancing and laughing in the rain. It reminds me of slipping, jumping in the puddles, tripping and running for cover. And the rain reminds me of her. Even in the youth of our friendship, it reminded me of her. Even in the maturity of our love, it reminded of her. It reminds me of her keen affinity for water, how she loved to play around with water, take long baths and even wash clothes. It reminded me of her long black hair, especially when she runs across the street to meet me or when she strides along the hallways and corridors oblivious that I am watching. It reminds me of her eyes and the tears that flow from them, how each teardrop marks its way down her cheeks and plunges off the edge of her chin. It reminds me of her lips, how they trembled when she was sad and how they lit up when she smiled. And the dampness they left on my cheeks whenever she kissed me. Sadly, it also reminds me of how she went away; taken by the same thing she loved most. Taken from the one that loved her most.
The rain has stopped.