This is in response to M’s fabulous prompts which you can see here. These used to be 101 words. Sometimes they still are. Sometimes not. They are often snippets, occasionally unfinished and sometimes simply the beginnings of something for another time. Mostly though they are just whatever the words inspire. This one goes with this one I did yesterday as I felt they went well together…
Whenever the rain fell he thought of her, of the time they had spent in Paris together and how they had loved without any thought for the repercussions. To fall so hard and so deep and so very, very quickly was intoxicating and she was a tempest like no one he had ever known .
He remembered the way she looked as she slept, the morning sun golden on her soft pale skin as she lay naked on the bed. He could still feel her against him when he closed his eyes, the way she smelled and moved.
She made him feel complete and like nothing else mattered, only whatever it was that they were when they were together, which was always.
Watching the rain pool and swirl about his feet he pulled the collar of his coat around his ears and tried to forget the times when the bed was empty, when the clock ticked by as he sat alone and wondered where she was. She had so many friends, it was understandable because she was pure joy to be around and you could not but help to want to spend time with her.
The rain, cold on his cheeks, mingled with tears as cars drove by splashing onwards through the night and off into the distance. Standing on the bridge looking out over the Seine feint church bells called out and he saw her face again, filled with the pain and sadness that his jealousy had caused and he recalled with a knot in his stomach how she had begged him to trust her.
Most of all though he remembered the silence that followed her screams…