ANNOYING RAINDROPS

The annoying raindrops started around midnight. Each one a tiny, insistent percussionist hammering on the windowpane, mocking my attempts to sleep. Usually, rain soothed me. Tonight, though, it felt like a conspiracy. A watery chorus designed to amplify the yearning already bubbling inside me. It was you. It always came back to you.

I tossed and turned, the blanket tangling around my legs like a desperate lover. I told myself it was the caffeine from the late-night writing session. The truth was a raw, throbbing ache in my chest, a constant whisper of your name echoing from my heart. We were just friends. I knew the rules. Crossing that line would be disastrous, a potential minefield that could explode our easy camaraderie into a messy, chaotic landscape. So I denied it. I built walls and plastered them with the sturdy bricks of denial. But the raindrops, those persistent little devils, seemed determined to dismantle my defenses. With each tap, they chipped away at the facade I had so carefully constructed. And as the defenses crumbled, the dreams crept in. Salacious dreams. Dreams that echoed with your laughter. Dreams that tasted like stolen kisses and whispered promises. Dreams where the casual brush of your hand against mine ignited a wildfire that consumed us both.

I buried my face in the pillow, trying to suffocate the images blooming in my mind. The way your eyes crinkled, the quiet strength in your voice when you offered advice. The way the sunlight caught the gold flecks in your hair. I hated the way you made me feel. Weak. Vulnerable. Craving something I couldn’t have. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to think of cake ingredients, historical dates, anything but you. But it was futile. My traitorous heart had already surrendered. It reveled in the forbidden fantasies, painting them in vibrant detail, ignoring the potential for pain. Finally, exhausted, I gave in. I let the dreams wash over me, a guilty pleasure in the lonely darkness. I imagined your hand in mine, your lips on mine, the whisper of your breath against my skin. The rain still pounded against the window, but now it sounded less like a taunt and more like a lullaby. A sad, beautiful song for a love I couldn’t allow myself to have.

As the sun began to paint the sky, I finally drifted off to sleep. The dream was still there, waiting for me. And as I succumbed to its allure, I knew that tomorrow would bring another day of denial. Another battle against the storm raging within. And, perhaps, another sleepless night, courtesy of the annoying raindrops and my hopelessly yearning heart. I was desperate to escape the suffocating weight of my unrequited affection. I knew I couldn’t continue like this. This slow, agonizing torture was eating me alive. I needed to find a way to sever the ties that bound me to a Mrs, and find a young Miss who could awaken me, and free my heart from the salacious dreams currently locked in the gilded cage of a married woman’s aura.