Smokey Rain

Your sweatshirt smelled of smoky rain. I was thinking of how often I had rested my head on that exact place on your chest. Your candid expression when you looked at me and played my song caused me to cry without sadness. Falling asleep. Utterly wasted. I listened to the rain clawing at the windows. I was so vulnerable that I was safe; nothing bad would come of me as long as I was close enough to feel you breathe.

The most beautiful baby in the world, “She would be the most beautiful baby in the world”, you declared. “Teach me something”, I demanded, in the naïve way that only a child can.