tip tap

I think of you when it rains.

I think of the third time I called you

And the first time you confessed to me,

That you didn’t call people often.

I felt honored,

And pleased.

And maybe?

A little bit hopeful.

I think of the way you’d fill all the awkward silences with comments about the rain,

As if rain doesn’t chance upon our town as often as it does.

You would murmur about the weather,

And even through the static

And the tip-tap of watery drops,

I could hear your love for the rain.

And for that,

I loved the rain a little bit more

Than I ever knew I could.

Tonight, I think of you

Even while your voice isn’t on the other end of the line.

It’s raining again tonight,

And I can’t help but wonder

If you think of me too.