Straight out of the Rain

I know it’s Henry when I hear the bell from the top of the door.

He comes over to the counter of the small diner, hair streaming wet. Always a tad too long to be neat, it sticks to his forehead in damp clumps. His eyes look greener than I can ever remember.

“It’s raining,” he says simply, running a hand through his hair. It remains sticking up at odd angles. His grin touches his eyes in a beautiful way.

Something about this moment causes my heart to both break and burst at the same time. I know that we will never be here again. And I know that in the future, there will come a day when I will not remember this moment. Everything erodes if you give it time.

But he is so beautiful, even straight out of the rain.

I close my eyes and will my mind to always remember this scene. The smell of coffee and bagels, and the sound of the radio spilling out some sweet melancholy tune. But more importantly, the way the rain and his smile touch Henry’s eyes, making them greener than I can ever remember.

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