Rain

In his bedroom, he said, "Let me give you a stock of kisses so that you can save them up." And took her face in his hands and kissed every inch of it. Kissed her eyelashes, her jaw, her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, her hair, and the errant tear running along her upper lip.

The rain pummeled the trees outside her late night window, threatening to conjure a Cathy to her eagerly awaiting Heathcliff. Damp, cool gusts invaded her bedroom and crawled across her sheets.

Anne stuck her head out the window to greet her beloved thunder and lightening. She opened her mouth to collect the rain.

Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow she would meet him!

Soon she would clamor beside him on cobblestone streets. Together they would finger the spines of used books in the basement of a shop. Or stretch their bodies across green grass and squint up at an English skies.

But New York didn't want her to leave.

"Don't go," it pleaded, wrapping its rain-soaked arms around her and wringing at her heart. "It is here that you belong, alone."