I sat on the edge of the bed as the flood came down. The big, ground floor window had a wide view of the parking lot. I sat there in a daze as the torrential rain fell hard outside, wondering if it would stop any time soon. The despair was palpable here, old motel must have a million stories.

My despair on that night was finely in tune with the walls, almost humming. This is not a dream, I lived this....sat there, bourbon in hand, wrestling with the sharp edged athleticism of loss. I am a native here, the rain in all forms, is a constant.....this was different.....as though universally timed to enhance the worst experience of my life.

I took another drink and imagined your beautiful form standing in the rain, soaked and searching for me.Your ghost always vanished after a few seconds and I would try to conjure it back....looking for a respite from the abyss. I knew you were home, where we lived for so long, under the same downpour......but I could not go to you....it was too late.

Someday this will fade.