The Rain

She stood in front of the piece, admiring it. She touched the surface, feeling the softness and the hardness of the paint. The blue and black and white meshed together, with violent swirls and soft curls.

This is the rain, she whispered to herself. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the emotions behind the art. She smiled. Her fingers followed the flow. Sometimes smooth, sometimes not.

"What do you think?"

The voice from behind made her whirled around, startled. The owner of the baritone voice was smiling down on her. Questions swimming in the lovely brown eyes. Soulful. Mysterious at times. But the softness of the almond shaped eyes stops there for the face was sharp. Very angular.

"I was admiring this," she said turning back to the painting. "It's the rain. There's sadness and there's kindness. Because it can destroy and it can nurture."

She closed her eyes again, fingers of her right hand touching the surface again.

"This is where the kindness is...," she said when her fingers moved on the smooth, soft paint. "Here it nurtures. Brings the life. Smiles on children's faces when the twirl around in the rain. While this," her voice changed as her fingers touched the hard jagged paint, "this is sorrow. It's when the rain becomes aggressive. It destroys. How can something so beautiful be ugly when there's abundance of it? How can one thing has different effects?"

She went quiet a while. Eyes opened now staring at the colours that can be coolingly cozy and gloomy at the same time. A sudden thought came to her. And she quickly turned back to him and excitedly exclaimed, "It's humane! Just like us! Our behaviours are not the same all the time. We... change, we adapt. Emotional being. If rain is a living thing, it's emotional too... Right?"

He had been staring at the back of her head since she started to describe his art to him. He had been astonished when her thoughts mirrored his when he was attacking the canvas. He was still staring at her when she was looking at him with her eyes and face flushed with discovery. The life and energy that he saw shining from her eyes, from her smile, from her whole face made her look like a goddess described in old Roman mythologies.

"No one has ever described what I've done so perfectly. Do you believe in kindred soul? Would you believe me if I said you're mine?" He couldn't masked his awe. At that precise moment he just didn't care if he sounded like a fool. But when he looked at her surprised face he felt as if a bucket full of ice had been poured over his head. "I've got to go". He turned his back on her and walked away.

She was still standing there with one armed raised half way, and forefinger pointing up. She was doing that when she made her discovery to him. Now her mouth was the letter O. She just watched him walked out from the gallery, wondering what just happened.