The Story--AZ Rains--A "By Josephine McRose" Series

Once,

on the river front,

in the dark,

where I liked to be,

he came.

I waited for him 

there,

so,

I suppose 

you could say,

it

wasn't 

some great 

moment.

As if it was 

fate.

Ah,

but 

that's just 

what 

it was,

tho.

Wasn't it.

His face 

above me.

His eyes looking 

at me,

that.......

deep breath

 he would

make,

that sound.

And so

I breathed 

a sigh of relief,

or would,

if I could.

If I could feel 

air in my

lungs,

instead of water

rushing 

into 

them.

You see,

the stage,

it had a habit

of running late,

of 

being predictable,

only 

in it's ability 

to 

piss me off.

It ran fast,

& it ran slow,

only enough so 

my plans

were only that.

Plans,

& not what 

I could rely 

on. 

And yes,

I DO see the 

irony

here.

The subtle 

transference,

deflecting.

Pot calling the 

kettle 

black,

type of

defining someone else,

by 

my own 

shortcomings,
kind of
thing.

But,

I thought I knew

better,
didn't I.

That I could 

be close,

be close enough.
So

that I could 

stop it.

Stop 

the 

only thing
that 
COULD
happen,
that night.

Yes,

I know.

I've heard it all

before this.

The explanations.

The logical 

reasons.

That faith,

predictions,

premonitions.

They don't work,

they don't exist. 

They. Are. Not.

Real. 

Fine.

Then tell me why,

then.

Tell me why,

I saw him there

that night.

Why 

the winds blow 

in that direction,

why 

I see him,

outside my balcony

windows,

on the dirt 

street 

below. 

Why I know,

he will

always

be 

there.

I could tell you

why. 

But that's 

another story,

isn't it.

But,

like Sara used 

to tell me,

the beginning,

or the

end,

all depends

on,

who's telling

the story...