She only loved me in the rain.
Maybe it was the noise of the drops hitting the windows and the tin roof, blocking out her thoughts, or maybe the sound only blocked her whispered secrets.
I saw her lips move when our kiss had ended and I wondered what mystery the unheard held.
She would hold me tight, when it rained, clutching me desperate, and I gave myself to her, needing to be needed.
We were anchors in the water, captains of the ship, powerful protectors, to ourselves and to each other.
Candles flickering in the darkness as her tongue flickered against my skin, hot wax dripping like the water on the window.
In the storm, I knew her, and I loved her. And she knew herself; loved herself; loved me.
But in the sunlight, we were just people once again, unsure, awkward and tame.
I told myself I could accept her as herself, no matter how uninspiring.
But she never could. I'll never know who she hated more in the daylight, and it doesn't matter, because she's just as lost, either way.