I was drifting along the sun-drenched lanes when I caught a glimpse of you, sitting on a bench, sipping iced coffee, your arms spread out, your hair tousled by the light breeze's fading haze.
As I sat next to you to take a breather from the hot sun, you promised me that it would rain soon and that the wet earth would welcome us with its forgotten fragrance. We would be children of the earth, spread amongst the golden gleam of the last day of September, our hearts listening to the pitter-patter of the rains as the drops soaked up our skin and sent us into a tizzy of light, furtive delight.
I believed you, and sure enough, the sun would give way to the clouds the very next day when I came to visit you. We kissed then, and the petrichor welcomed us with fragrant joy of romance under the cloudy grey sky and dark hovering clouds.
We would then go home, and you would ask me to cook you an omelette, as if that constituted some secret, appetizing code between us. We both took turns in cooking, and I held your hand whilst you ate with the glasses reeling on your nose. After that, we went outside and tried to catch the falling raindrops as if to preserve them in our pickled memories. The more it rained the more we danced. the more we danced, the more green did the luscious leaves of the trees seem, and the more drops fell down our backs. I reached out and tenderly wiped away that tear in your eye, and whispered "You're mine and you are beautiful."