It was one of those days when you wake up knowing nothing can go wrong. The weather was perfect: grey and whispering of merry rain, promising to shower the sedate parched hills with a long awaited cleansing. No hint of sunlight appeared to mar the delightful play of the rain drops, flowing in gentle angles and a growing rapidity that would have been regarded forceful, except for the grace with which it embraced the surroundings.
I turned from the window and looked to the other side. He was sprawled comfortably on the bed, stirring slightly, as the first drops hit the pane of glass and rumbled against the brick tiles of this cottage. Ever so slowly his eyes opened and looked straight into mine; a glimmer of a smile played on his lips as he watched me hugging a mug of hot coffee to my lips and dressed in a grey sweatshirt that was unmistakably his. With a slow movement he beckoned me to him. I walked to him. Such comfort should be scary but it wasn't. I was bound to this entity: he was my friend, he was my lover, he was my passion, he was my flaw and he was my joy.
