Funny how you hated the rain,

The world works in funny ways.

You came like the perfect storm, exactly what I needed to remind myself that I could be normal one day.

The beacon of hope that I deserved kindness.

Kissing in the rain at the MoMa, running through lower manhattan in the August heat, drinking champagne on my roof on New Year's eve, tumbling around in crisp linen sheets the morning after, room service and hangovers with a bet that I couldn’t last without coffee for over a week.

You were the perfect storm, I gave you that name, and you came with the qualities one has.

Perfect, passionate, impromptu, gentle, sporadic,

then

volatile, cold, distant,

then

g

o

n

e.

And I don’t blame you, perfect storm, you were being who you were.

I was being who I was.

So after you left, I did what I did best.

I was scared, excited, impatient, gentle, passionate, distant, open,

then

g

o

n

e.

Even after you came back, and went away, and came back, and went away. Your bandwidth of rain trying to touch my skin again, giving me cold freezing rain and then warm summer downpours.

I realized I didn’t want a storm.

I wanted someone who could love me in the rain, in the sun,

by the ocean, when fall rolls around, in the droughts, through it all.

Not just a perfect storm.

No matter how perfect it may seem.

Funny how you hated the rain, isn’t it?