I come home from work - tired, soaked in cold rain. I wanted to get home. I had to get home. The place I was waiting to get a ride home to was not too familiar and too cold to stay longer even. I had been shivering throughout the 2km ride, the driver braving the hard pour just to earn for the night. I am amused as to how he could drive still, although very carefully, with drops of rain hitting his eyes and never even rubbing them so he could see. I felt my eyes flush in pain, how could his not?
He stopped one house before mine. He thanked me for giving him 20 bucks more. No, thank you for driving me home safely.
I reached for the towel and texted him the usual Im-home-love (insert rain-was-mad-i-got-drenched), winding up like a needy cat. I washed the rain that might cause me the flu and made myself hot tea. There was no more water in the dispenser. Shoot. That burden of lifting that heavy 5-liter gallon onto the dispenser, and still not mastering the art of refilling it perfectly. About a gallon of water went slushing all over my kitchen. Change clothes, I was soaking wet again.
At least the tea made me feel better. Looking at those swirls of hot air rising up into nothingness as i cupped the mug with my hands and sipping it's hot orange goodness made me feel warm, like having him to run hot bath for me, or him handing me that towel and cloak me warm, or him cuddling me cozy to sleep throughout this cold evening.
But he is far away. And he probably feels cold as I do now too.
Sighs, rain. Why do you have to make lonely nights colder?