Summer Shower

Last night, Johnny and I went for a walk in the rain. We'd been in the apartment most of the day, and at nine o' clock I needed a change. We walked down the busy street we live on and over to a quiet, dark park. The air chilled over and forgot summer for a while as we stopped to swing on the swingset. Johnny leaned back and watched the sky as he sank and rose, and I could almost see him as a ten-year-old holding onto the chains and breathing deeply. We talked and talked about who-knows-what and held hands and stopped for a hug and kiss or two. We were pretty wet when we got back, but we cuddled our kitty (he didn't speak to us for a little) and played video games and felt much younger than we are. It felt like there would be no tomorrow and there was no yesterday, time was only tonight and here and now. It made me so happy and comfy - it felt warm-sweatery and hot-chocolatey, as if warm cookies were baking somewhere nearby. I realized good memories and happiness must be chosen, must be created. Sometimes when you don't know what to do, throwing on some really good jazz and asking each other random questions - things you don't know about each other even now - can make a dull evening one of your precious memories. (Question examples: What idiotic thing did you steal when you were little and why? What did you take for granted when you were little that you've never found again? and so on.) NEway, I just wanted to say I had a really good night in the rain with Johnny.