She fell into my life like a girl drenched in rain. I don't think it was autumn; likely, spring, some March or May day; I don't care for April, so I don't remember it as April.

It was raining, and in our spring coats, picturesque in the city with our umbrellas and our boots on the avenue and the rain and grey, I left. It was cold, but not so much. There was no misery. My socks were dry. Spring was near; the star magnolias were nearing bloom.

She was wearing red. We were all in taupe and greys, & blacks, shades of the New Yorker.
And there she was, soggy, & dripping like a tulip. And she was mine.

Maybe if someone else had spotted her first, someone with a nicer mug & an extroverted temperament, but it was raining & evening had just fallen. She was like a damsel. Distress. Something.

"Here." I offered her my umbrella.
"No, thank you, I'm alright,--" she went on.
I slipped the handle in her soft hand.

"It's alright."
And before she could return it, I nodded goodbye, and crossed the street.

---

I loved her like that. She was perfect.

And she held back a sob. She was wearing black today. Some black frumpy sweater and black jeans, & nondescript black pointed shoes. Her mouth was painted a dark burgundy.

I did not want to kiss it. I hated her mouth like that, all pretty but undesirable.
Who did she paint it for? ---Not for me. Maybe for herself.
We only have ourselves at the end of the day.  It was almost symbolic. She was funeral colors.
Who loved death? Death is not catharsis. It's just the end.

"Please take your umbrella." She took it from the stand. She was playing on symbolism.

"No. It's alright."

"I don't want it." She started sobbing through her words.

"It's just an umbrella." It was.
She threw it at me. It hit me. Caught me off-guard.
I was angry, for a moment, but it didn't hold.

And she held herself and began sobbing harder. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to kiss her, but it wouldn't be the same.

The feeling went out. It was like a bulb, and love was the filament that broke, because thin filaments break. The light goes out, and it is just a dead bulb. I wanted to hold her, but it wasn't my place. I did not love her.

Without another bullshit art moment in me, I grabbed the knob, twisted quick, & left. Locked & pulled shut.

The air was fresh & damp. It was raining. I'd catch a cab around the first corner.