I didn’t bring a coat when I moved here. They said that it was the hottest city in Europe, the driest city in Europe, and they were right. We got off the plane into ninety degree weather that lasted all the way through to November.
It doesn’t rain very often here in the desert.
The first weeks here were a blur. We spent most of our time battling administrators and forms, processes and deadlines, in a language we didn’t understand. Those rare hours we had free, those blissful moments without stress, we spent at the beach watching the waves crash onto the sand.
It rains about once a month here in the desert.
The first time it rained was only a few days after we arrived. I remember her face, illuminated by the storm over the bay as the storm rolled in from the Mediterranean. She told me that I shouldn’t waste any thoughts on you. The instants the lightning flashed, she could see the tears glistening in my eyes.
It rains about once a month here in the desert.
The next time it rained, you and I were walking to our homes on our way back from the cinema. The film we watched was about a rainy day. You offered me a place under your umbrella, but I refused. I was trying to be tough, but the truth was inside I wanted to accept.
You can see the stars twenty-seven days a month in the desert.
We lay on the beach at midnight, just you and I, after all our friends had packed up their blankets and left for their houses. The cool night air began to whisper down our spines, but we didn’t want to leave the stars. Neither of us can remember who asked the other to stay that night.
You can see the stars twenty-seven days a month in the desert.
So many times I wanted to ask you, but I could never find the courage. For months, now, I’ve wanted to know the truth about who you are. But despite the tough persona I put on, I was too timid every time.
It rains twice a month in winter in the desert.
When I asked you how you felt about me all those moons ago, I was disappointed to hear your answer. But I wasn’t surprised. Memories of thunder rumbled through my mind.
It rains twice a month in winter in the desert.
It rained the day that I left the desert to see my family. The waves crashed angrily on the rocks, and I stood there with her, as she told me I should forget about you. I believed her. Time away from the desert erased the sketch of your soul in my heart.
It rains much more in the town where I come from.
I used to own a selection of coats. Brown ones, grey ones, black ones. I even knew a woman with a purple coat. As dawn broke over the Forth, breaking through the patchy clouds of the night, her sunset hair glistened in the glory. Her soul flew out of her eyes, and her lifeless grin stretched off the sides of her face into nothingness.
It rains much more in the town where I come from.
She’s gone now, but the sketch she left on my soul was drawn with a knife. Knife wounds are dangerous. Sometimes, it’s better to leave the knife in, lest you succumb to loss of blood. Standing in the rain washes the red away, but the blade is still lodged in my heart.
Two days ago, the rain started to fall on the desert.
You took me in your arms as the sun’s rays disappeared over the western sky. I showed you the knife on my soul, and you showed me the compassion I needed to start to heal properly. I believe I’ll always have scars, but that’s better than an open wound.
Two days ago, the rain started to fall on the desert.
I woke up this morning and looked at the snow on the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada. The rain washed away the past, and now I know the thing I wanted to know about you the most. Lightning didn’t strike in Almería last night.
The rain will stop tomorrow.
This is the longest period of rain that I’ve experienced here in the desert. There are things I need to tell you. I want you to know how I feel about you. But no matter what happens next, I’ll remember you whenever I sense the raindrops kissing my bare skin.
