Night storm

I am in Paris, it’s a sunny day, but we’re all in black. It’s an old friend funeral, and I still haven’t found the courage to ask someone how did he die, what happened and when. Somehow I feel that my funny accent when I speak French would be regardless to the dead. I’m crying quietly, when the dead’s mother stares at me. I can see she knows me and she suddenly moves towards me like she’s going to ask me something, something that I surely don’t want to hear.
And suddenly I’m in our new flat, building a new wall where we destroied the old one, between the kitchen and the living room.
The scene changes again, and I’m drowning, I keep inspiring water but of course I can’t breathe it, untill darkness falls on me.

I wake gasping, nose and throat closed due to my allergies, and I have to sit up and grab my ventolin before I can calm down a little bit.
KS lies beside me, he has pushed the sheets away, and he’s still sleeping.
It’s 3 AM and I know I’m not going back to sleep. I can feel something in the air, but in the mists between sleep and wake I cannot identify it.
So I get up and move to the kitchen, taking my book with me. I’m preparing some coffee, it’ll help me through the night, and it’s a bit cool, so somethin warm to drink won’t hurt.

And then I realize it: after days of heat and sun, the first storm of the year will break soon. I open the window and breath the smell of the air, waiting for the first drops and the wind that will take them.
I light a candle, take place on the armchair and settle to spend there the rest of the night.

When I was a kid, with my brothers, we would wait for the lightenings to stop, and then we would go swimming in the lake. We used to say that wile it’s raining the water is warmer. Yes, on rainy days we’d go swimming out, on rainy days, swimming in the south.

Waiting for the first thunder to come, I think about my dreams. It’s been weeks since I last got a decent night of sleep, thanks to my seasonal allergies, and I’m sore to the bone each night, after working on the new flat. Although it’s definetly KS who does the most of it, the works we’re doing are so tiring sometimes I forget why or what we are doing.

Tomorrow it’ll be one year since Granpa left us, he’d be 90 if he was still with us.

Finally, the storm breaks and, after a few minutes, I close the window and wrap myself in a plaid. There’ll be many things to do in the morning, and then I’ll leave for a while.
I won’t be able to post, probably until May 23 or so, as I’ll be away most of the time, working abroad and then doing some mountaineering ski.
I’ll miss my love, and everything, but it’ll do me some good, hopefully.