Rainy Days (bp coyle)

I always hated rainy days when I was a kid. This is Ireland, we get a lot of rainy days here, all year round.

A wet spell during the summer holidays was the worst. I could survive the first day fine. Read a little. Play cards with my brother. Monopoly. Chess.

After that I would begin to feel edgy, trapped, stir crazy.

It was so unfair. This was my time off, my time to be free. I wanted to be outside, climbing trees, running along the beach, diving into the ice cold sea.

When I met you rainy days changed into something special. Huddling together in our lumpy bed as the downpour pounded against the window. No matter how many times I tried to fix that thing, the water always leaked through.

Running to the shops with umbrellas held before us, protecting us from next to nothing. Returning home soaked to strip each other and charge to the shower. The shower that had so little pressure that we had to take turns trying to get warm.

I loved rainy days with you. With you. Only with you.

Since you have gone it seems to rain more than ever.

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