My therapist asked me yesterday what I was thinking about.
I told her, but I replaced your name with, “the rain.”
The rain is beautiful.
I miss the rain.
It’s been a long time since I have seen the rain.
I could spend all day with the rain.
I need the rain.
With the rain, everything is okay.
“So, you like rain?” she asked.
She looked at me with a curious smile. I flew away to escape my rumination of the rain and only found more of it.
It started to rain this morning, so I went for a walk and got coffee. Your name was written on the name tag of my barista.
“Good morning,” she said.
I stared at her name tag for a long time. It’s a pretty name. It means heaven. I wondered why you were given this name.
I said it over and over again to myself and traced the letters on the name tag with my eyes.
“Good morning,” I heard the barista say again.
I looked up at the woman hoping to see you but was greeted by someone else’s eyes. She smiled at me and started talking about the rain.
“It’s supposed to rain all week,” she said.
That’s okay. I love the rain.
I walked back to my hotel room after drinking my coffee, feeling the rain hit my cold skin.
I had written your name on a wad of paper before leaving and had tossed it into the trash. I guess I missed, for when I returned, it was sitting on my desk. I opened it to find your name written in the handwriting of a five-year-old. The “a” looked like an “o.”
I miss you today.
I really miss you.
I hope we meet again one day. If not here, maybe in heaven.
It’s raining again. I hope it rains tomorrow.
I love the rain, and I love you.