Rain 18 -

The rain hit my face. It was cold. It was loud. And for just a moment, I was eighteen again. I didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow. I didn't have a plan. I was just a collection of atoms, enjoying a storm.

We sat there for an hour. We didn't exchange numbers. We didn't kiss. We just watched the water rise. She told me she was moving to Portland in the morning. I told her I was staying here, even though I didn't know where "here" was. When the rain finally slowed to a whisper, she stood up, brushed off her wet jeans, and walked away without saying goodbye. Rain 18

— For the girl in the yellow raincoat, wherever you are. The rain hit my face

I turned off my computer. I walked outside. I sat on the curb in front of my building—a different curb, in a different city, in a different life. A neighbor yelled, "Hey, you're going to get wet!" And for just a moment, I was eighteen again

The rain remembers. Even if you don't.