There are moments you cannot describe, things you cannot put into words. Things that haunt you down to your bones. You don’t just decide to write them down, and then write them down. It’s never like that. Truth is, I don’t know how it happens. It’s like they turn into a million tiny worms and then creep to the surface. You don’t mean it, they are just so deep within your subconscious mind and your screwed-up nervous system. They have to get out. Diaries are not autobiographical. Fiction is.
There is a certain kind of smile. There is a certain kind of day.
And there is a situation. You are in a city, and it’s pouring with rain. Suddenly, it’s that kind of day again, and it’s that kind of smile. And you are both soaked through, but there is no bad blood between you. No bad memories, no mistakes from the past. Not anymore. You are both clean. It’s all that sky water, it has washed it all away. And you feel new, and your hair smells like rain, and your T-shirt weighs a ton and your heart weighs nothing, and maybe there’s a tinge of that old-fashioned happiness creeping through your veins.