Nomad Writer

The rain came, euphoria warm on its breath. It called to her from the kitchen, glistening rivulets winking at her like crystals against the thick glass. And, without a second thought, she dashed outside, bare feet sliding over wet grass, mud squelching between her yellow-painted toes. The rain clapped at her shoulders as the wind spun her about. She caught the dizzying rush of nostalgia bubbling up inside her — the thrill of childlike abandon.

She splashed from puddle to puddle until her lavender skirt bore the stains of giddy mischief. And when she turned around, she found him watching her in the open backdoor, a peculiar expression on his face. As if she were the biggest idiot he’d ever known. But there was something tender between his scrunched brows. She squinted through the rain at him as his lips slowly eased into a smile.

She ran up to him then, clasping his bearded jaw between her wet palms, mashing their mouths together. And she didn’t let go, hopeful he could taste the euphoric bliss still rich on her lips.