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This is pouring rain
This is paralysed
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Do you remember when you asked me to the school dance? The last dance of the school year.
A couple of blushing students pointed me to the back of the school and told me to follow the path of stars. Sure enough, a silver star balloon bobbed in the air, tied to a fence. I jumped the fence and continued along the path of balloon-marked trees to a forest glade.
I didn't recognise you at first. The first thing I saw was a flower wreath larger than my face, braided into the shape of a heart. The cluster of red roses was dotted with stalks of lavender and lily buds, spots of dusky blue and white in a ruby cloud. And in the center, a white placard, with wobbly black calligraphy I couldn't even read. Thankfully, skills from years of reading my father's handwriting kicked into gear, finally spelling out, "Will you go to the dance with me?"
Only then did I make out two hands, legs, a head.
You popped your head up over the wreath's intimidating height and peered at me.
I already knew my answer. Because I've always been weak when it comes to you, I never could refuse you anything.
Didn't mean I couldn't make you sweat a little, though.
Later, when we lay in the long grass, my head on your chest, I confessed, "I actually hate roses."
You quirked an eyebrow. "Well, that makes this-" you pointed to the abundance of roses in the wreath "-kind of awkward. What is your favourite flower then?"
"Chrysanthemums. The yellow ones." "Makes sense." You mused, "They suit you."
I snuggled into your chest, hearing the steady of your heartbeat.
"A yellow chrysanthemum for Emilia." You rested your arm on my back. "I know now."
Suddenly, a drop of moisture fell on my hand. I raised my eyes to see thin arrows of water streaking from the sky.
