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On the road last night, engulfed in dark rain, I let my mind wander to days long past, much like this.
You were driving, I pretended to doze, while I watched you secretly under lowered eyelids. Storm clouds clustered in the valley below us; lightning slashed the sky, while we, at our safe distance, were teased by the sprinkles tossed in its wake. The farther we plunged into the valley, the farther it retreated, allowing only a glimpse of the ferocity in its flight.
You and I, walking together in the drizzle, me marvelling at how while others cowered away from the showers pouring down, you seemed to walk straighter, stand stronger. I admired the broad lines of your shoulders, the casual and confident ease in your movements, as the raindrops gently dampened your hair and neck.
Us, striding together around Boston Harbor, the air thick with moisture, the sky dark with the promise of drenching rain. My clothes clung to me relentlessly; as I walked, I plucked at them self-consciously. I listened as you spoke of aquifers and dredging, hearing more the gentle deepness of your voice, and the passion in your tone.