Wish I Would Rain Down
Assuring with one hand in your pocket that your keys are still there, the other one pulls the appartment door shut behind you. You place an arm carelessly around the shoulder of the young woman who is walking next to you. As your arm touches her hair and her shoulder they almost seem to give of a scent, one you know so well. It is a scent of love, one of passion and one of lust. You smelled it the very first time you met her as you accidentally bumped into her at a party at the university you studied both. The scent was there, before the woman. You are absolutely sure that it was the scent that caught you off guard and made you fall madly, deeply in love with this woman. Tonight you are escorting her to the elevator of your penthouse, the one where you have been living for two years together now. “I am going out with the girls,” she said. “Of course,” you say. After all YOU were the one who once made a point out of keeping in touch with your old friends and, even when in a relationship, being able to give each other space… as much as needed. Lately she seems to be taking your advice to heart. Your fingers press the button, you fumble: ‘oops’ you tell her as you press the up button. Immediately her finger sways towards the elevator button. Down. She presses it. A small light shows the progress of the two elevator as if they are in a race, you notice the elevator that is coming from above moves faster, being helped by gravity while the elevator up that is coming from below moves a bit slower. As her elevator arrives and she kisses you goodbye, you wish her a good time. She doesn't catch you in your lie.