Chaque fois qu’il pleut…

As she looks out and beyond, at the huge, dark grey clouds that has filled the summer sky with its ominous presence, she experiences, not a feeling of foreboding, but one of welcoming, of embracing a long awaited respite from the heat of yesterdays.

“Are you cold?” she hears the voice of her love behind her. The shivers that cause her flesh to tremble is not from the chilly air around, but from the sound of his voice; a gentle timbre that soothes and yet excites her emotions within.

Maybe it is cold; the crisp breeze wraps her in its folds. Yes, she is cold. But as she turns toward him, her body trembles again, not from the touch of the wind, but at the heated call in her lover’s eyes. And she aches inside with the anticipation of the silent promise she sees in their depths.

The morning has now been put aside along with the cares of the day. Now, they will return indoors, to the already rumpled sheets of last night’s love making and seek that intimate pleasure, in the dark and windy weather… finally, the rains have come!



She looked at him; her eyes taking in a beauty that always consumed her, leaving her in awe. And when he smiled, the caged butterflies would flutter their wings in unison, deep inside her.

Did he know?

For a moment, the admission almost left her lips…, but no!

She should never tell.

The Letter

Okay so this is my first short story… if you can call it that. I know it’s something new to my usual, but I hope you guys enjoy it!


November 5th 1891

My dearest Carrick,

  I no longer know to whom I am writing. Maybe this letter is 
a consolation to myself. A pretense of closure for my dying heart.
  I am now assuming that you are really dead. That the reports were 
true. That of the thousands that had perished in the flood, my love, 
you were one too.
  For your letters no longer respond to the out-pours of my heart. Now,
after a year of waiting, of anxiously hoping, that you, my love, were
somehow alive, I realize I have to close this chapter of my life.
  Can I... should I continue to wait? For my love? Who I've never seen?
My love, who only my heart knows through flower scented pages and 
written words of love?
  Your words no longer come to calm my now frightened heart. Your 
thoughts are no longer mine to know.
  You are gone. Will I be unfaithful to your memory if I don't let my 
heart continue to cry? Or can I comfort my conscience in thinking that 
you wouldn't want my beating heart and heated emotions to die?
  Can I now move on? Are you really gone? I have to let you go...

   Yours forever and always,

    Carrick read the letter over again. His heart had warmed inside 
when he had seen Udita's handwriting on the envelope.
   Was it cruel to let her think he was dead? He couldn't let her pine 
her life away for someone who could never be her ever after. 
  Yes, he had survived the flood, but only as half a man. Can he expect
her to meet him now? He didn't want her to become his nurse or his 
  He had wanted to be all that she had imagined. He had wanted to marry
her, have a family, grow together in love until their final breaths 
stilled each other's beating hearts. 
  Their correspondence over time had led to an indescribable, 
unbreakable bond of love and friendship. He knew she had imagined him
to be the most handsome man and by his words of love, a tender lover.
  But the flood had caused the accident that had devastated his
features and maimed him for life. He had to let her think that he was
gone. She was, anyway, on the other side of the world. She had only 
known him through his letters. They had planned to meet when the flood
had happened. It was easy now to make her believe that he was dead.
  He had to! She needed to move on with her life. She was young. He
couldn't expect her to waste her life on a shriveling shell of man like
  He would risk it all: his love, his own happiness, if only it would 
mean that she could be happy and find love again.