the rain is full of ghosts tonight

She had to park her car down the street from her house. There weren't any spots close to where she lives so she had to make a journey walking back in the cold after driving. Getting out of the car takes her longer than it should. She has to put her jacket on, take out her keys and get her purse. She keeps her hands in her pocket, with her fingers around her car key. After locking the door, she heads towards her house. The wind blows her hair back and her teeth chatter from the cold. She could never take the cold very well. The streets are dimly lit with streetlamps and the occasional car headlights that pass by. As she walks she thinks of what the people in these cars are doing. She creates little life scenarios for each car. The blue honda civic that just passed was on the way to buy eggs, they had tried to make a birthday cake but forgot the eggs! How could they!

Y ou can see her breath leave her mouth in a puff of smoke. There’s a deep breath in, and a short breath out, so she can see her breath better. One more pair of headlights drive past, and rain starts to sprinkle down. The raindrops and sidewalk mix together to make a nostalgic scent, one that is straight out of her memories. A melody escapes her lips, a song unknown to all but her. The tune is mellow, like a lullaby. Her eyes stay focused on her feet, taking precautionary measures to avoid any cracks or any snails exploring in the rain. The white front door whispered her name as she almost walked past it, too distracted by the things around her. The darkness of the hallway lit up from the humming of her song. A tune uninterpretable to anyone but her.

The rain is full of people tonight. Outside her window the city lights shine like stars, she hears the people and she hears the cars. She hears the rain like a blanket of calm. The people on the street closest to her window walk calmly under their umbrellas. She imagines that they’re walking home from a night full of dancing, with their high heels. The woman on the left has a little limp in her step, and eventually she takes off her shoes all together and laughs. Stockings wet from the puddles and the rain showing no mercy, the women laugh and dance around.

The next person to pass by is an old man wearing a sports coat and carrying a black umbrella. His grey hair is spiked up, as if he was caught in the rain before he could manage to get his umbrella open. He is attempting to strike a match for his cigarette, the old fashioned way. After attempt three you can see his frustration and wet cigarette. He throws the box of matches angrily on the ground and a lighter falls out of his sleeve. Luck must have been on his side, as he then manages to light his cigarette and continue his stroll to wherever he is headed. A puff of cigarette smoke is left in his wake.

Following the cloud of smoke comes two school kids with their backpacks. Coughing dramatically to show their disdain. They cover their mouths and giggle, making glances at each other with smiles in their eyes. In every puddle they take turns stomping, and in between their arms there is a clear umbrella. Their outside arms swing in tandem with their footsteps. The concrete under their feet might as well be made with rubber due to the bounce in their steps. They turn the corner and disappear from sight. As she lays by the window, the breeze and moisture seeps through her bones. The window is covered in condensation from her proximity and humanity. She could draw the Mona Lisa on this window if she felt the desire to do so. She knows she can, and it would be fun, but her fingers are frozen from the cold already and they would freeze even more. Her eyes feel heavy, and her shoulders are sagging down. Leftover moisture from her stunt in the rain makes the cold more intolerable. She flicks off the lights one switch at a time, heading straight to bed without a second thought. The bed welcomes her with open arms, telling her to stay a while.

Petrichor wafts up through her window from the ivy on the side of her house. The green leaves are still dripping from the leftover raindrops from the storm cloud. The sun has risen and with the sun, the city awakens. Coffee grounds and orange peels and cigarette smoke fragrancing the alleyways. She stretches her arms, and then her legs, before finally stepping out from under the covers. Walking lazily into the kitchen, she brews a pot of coffee. Just enough for two mugs like she does every Sunday morning. Two sugars and two ice cubes later, she lounges on her couch just as the clicking of the lock turning catches her attention. Without looking, she holds out the second mug. Coffee with a splash of oat milk and no sugar. They gracefully step through the threshold and behind the couch, taking the mug and sitting next to her. Brown eyes meet blue and they both laugh and sigh.

---

Photo from Pinterest