It’s silly. When I think about it now, I know for sure I’ve never known the difference. To think that some that are so young believe that they know the difference, is laughable. I’ve only known the latter of the two, the lesser of the two, the much more common of the two. I’ve never known the first, the foremost, the best. And to think that the difference is so simple, yet so complicated.
The difference is in the rain. The difference is in our senses. It’s in the smell of the grass, the feeling of dew, and the sight of nothing. It’s in the laughs, and the playful smacks, and the springs of the trampoline. It’s the sound of thunder, and the look we gave each other, and then the rain falling. Drizzling. Then pouring so hard, it’s difficult to see. It’s looking at him and seeing and feeling nothing but the rain, and doing what the rain tells you to do. Slow-moving, and hearts beating, the rain tells you to fall in love and you listen, and you feel, you smell, you taste, but you don’t see. You see nothing, until 6 words, “do you want to go inside?”
You see, you stare, you breathe, you nod. You hear the footsteps in the mud, feel the friction between two soaking hands, the chill of a metal doorknob. Dryness, quiet, peace, a race up the stairs. Time slows down again, the hearts beat faster again, and the rain screams at you through the window to say six words, and so you ask. You ask, he stares, he nods. Time speeds up, the hearts intertwine, the eyes shield themselves from the air. Breaths are taken, names are spoken, hands are travelling. The rain pounds, it yells to love. You gasp, time slows, he stays. The rain whispers, subsides, it’s satisfied. The hearts never separate.
The difference is the rain. The difference is the senses. The difference is making love or having sex. The rain gave me the first.
(Image credit: http://vi.sualize.us/view/d5750a7a8a481a522cba6456bed475c3/)
