Metaphor

Monsoon season, it has been raining constantly the past week. When I left my home the sky was a flat grey. Suddenly it started to pour so hard I had to pull up by the side of the road.

I could see nothing beyond the windscreen's liquid curtain. Not even the lights of other cars. I sat there waiting, afraid of invisible collisions. Never have I felt this far from anyone.

Life has been a fortress of books, a grid of friends, a string of one-night stands. I have had too many hours. I sometimes wish I were innocent - or at least, ignorant, of the constant proof of my best defense.

I imagined the windows shattering, and immediately ridiculed such indulgence. But sometimes, I guess, we must permit ourselves to one or two of these. So: the storm abated, and I continued on.

I couldn't stop thinking about your hands.