I remember the way as if I take it every day, as if part of an indifferent daily routine. I have one goal at this point, yet it doesn't occur to me that my motivation, desperation is startling. The day is dematerializing as a looming cloud threatens rain. The world moves under me as I stay put, quiet, patient but determined. The road bows to my destination.

You walk out of a building so tall it agitates the sky. I get out of the car and stand there, watching you. You must sense it, for coincidentally, you raise your head and glance towards me. In slow motion, you turn towards me as the world moves you closer to me, stopping at a distance far enough that you are safe, and close enough so that you know.

We stand there for a long time. We desperately try to look indifferent, but old emotions surface like ice cubes in a water glass. The cloud above bursts after long anticipation and lets loose a downpour.

At first the water bounces off of your resilient expression, runs down you and off to the realm of a sewage Poseidon.

I am not surprised when the water starts to hit, penetrating and liquefying your skin, proceeding to gather in a brown complexion puddle near your fading feet.

You are a water color masterpiece that is being washed away by drops of liquid, a snowman in the summer, a forgotten ice cream cone that is left in the sun by a careless child.

Your angular features soften slowly and your chin melds with your neck to form a slope that the clear brown liquid slides down. Your purple contact pupils melt along with the white of your eyes and drizzle into your smirk, all the way down. Black, once hair, drops penetrate the brown unsuccessfully and meld with the puddle on the jagged pavement.

You fade away into a stream of translucent color that glazes the concrete floor. I watch, undecided upon an emotion. The streets are empty, the stoplight nearby stares a red glare, having been the only witness, save me.