With the storm underway, I figured it was a good day for a reblog of Conversation in the Rain….
He sat on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. He always did that when it rained. It was coming down in buckets. There was no thunder, or lightning. Just rain. A deluge. She stepped out onto the porch with him. Stood there. Wished for thunder and lightning, to quiet her chaotic mind. Storms had always soothed her. She didn’t say anything, which was unusual. She always had a smile, and something to say. She stood there and looked out at the puddles forming on the blacktop. On the side walk too. She turned, looked at him. She said, I’m leaving. He said, I’m not surprised. Said he’d heard her say it before. Twice. He asked her, why? She looked away and said nothing. For a woman who was always quick with a joke, advice, or a dirty retort, she just stood there. Speechless.
Instead she walked down the steps, into…
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