• He was the one who loved the rain. It fell, drop by drop, kissing their skin. She breathed in the scent of his jacket around her, greatful for the warmth of his body as they huddled together under an umbrella barely big enough for one. He listened to the music from the rain, drawing in the soft patters of each drop, the low bass of thunder, and the strong melody of the wind, and she tried to hear, tried to see. H esaid it washed away their pasts, until all that was laft was them, them. Us, us.
    He told her he loved the taste. She asked what it tasted like. He'd smile and tell her, a first kiss, dreams, love.
    A year later, and it still rains today. Drop by drop. Shatter upon shatter. Now she stands alone, wondering if you whisper the same hopes to the other girl, wondering if the other girl would believe like her. She stepped into the rain, letting it drench her bit by bit, until no part of her remained dry, and she shivered in the cold. She tried to hear the music he had described to her, once upon a time. The rain was aggressive, the thunder menacing, the wind bellowing in pain and anguish. The drops mingled with her tears, and she struggled to wipe them away. She tried to hear, oh, she tried. The past wasn't washed away, all that was left in her mind was them, them. When had it become her, her?
    She tried to taste, she tried to find the flavor of firsts, but she couldn't, and wouldn't. All she could taste was the rain.