A kiss in the rain brings more warmth and shelter than jackets and umbrellas ever could.
The street appears to have sprung into existence solely for the couple kissing so tenderly, their faces dripping with the wintry gifts of clouds. His hands, gently in her hair, hers upon his chest. Tucker smiles, and glances toward the sky that promises more rain to come, their sweet sound as a round of applause for love and romance.
The rain creates a beat upon the blacktop sidewalk. People pass as if in accelerated motion - all except two people whom have let their umbrellas fall to the wet street and be blown by the wind. They are bound in a kiss that is so tender the world should stop on its axis and take note of their love. Then they walk and in hand, droplets beading their hair.
There is something so heavenly about a kiss in the rain, a tender moment that just won't wait. It is that burst of love that is expressed, not caring if the water soaks through to chill the skin. It is a connection that shows the strength of the feeling, the mutual need. It is a rebellion against the elements. Nature can bring the rain but our inner sunshine comes through just the same.
The puddles upon the blacktop are as good as those in The Magician's Nephew, yet instead of transporting me to a new and fantastical land, they take me back to that summer storm when Ben first told me how he felt. Those drops weren't just magical, they were divine. Each one washed away an unseen pain, a doubt, an angst. For the time our lips were locked together in that rush of rain, the world itself ceased to exist, blurred and indistinct as an impressionist masterpiece.
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