Under the Pink Umbrella

Martha trotted down the pavement, wet by the rain. She trotted with her beige overcoat, knee-length, her hands covered with white glove, the left one safely tugged in the pocket while the other one was holding a cup of coffee. Her black Channel handbag on her right shoulder caught anyone's attention. She let her hair wet into shades of blonds - but not too wet. She has five more minutes walking the pavements before she reached home.

As she was enjoying the tiny drops of rain on her head, face and shoulder, her eyes were caught by a sight across the street, right in front of the convenient store - a couple was kissing passionately under a pink umbrella, a bouquet of red roses in the girl's arm, held as if it is being protected with all her might to not letting it go. They broke off the kiss, the man smiled and looked into her eyes. At that exact moment she felt something. The enjoyment being caressed by the rain seemed to fade away as fast as the water moving lower than the edge of where she's standing into the drainage system right underneath her.

The enjoyment were being replaced by this warmth in between her breasts. It started out as small as the size of the penny but as she absorbed the sight in front of her, it grew bigger and she could feel the warmth traveled in her veins, making her warm - the whole body, instantly. She felt the hot flush on her cheeks, and her lips started to twitch before forming a smile - the type of smile that has long forgotten by her. And without a reason, tears filled the lids.

As the young couple began to walk - the man's left hand on her back and her head on his left shoulder under the pink umbrella - Martha wiped the tears that couldn't be differentiated from the rain. It's not a bad kind of tears nor a sad kind too. Its more of realization of what she has forgotten and the fact that she still can feel that tremendous and more-than-life-type-of-sensation-feeling again, she knows that its not the end of the world.

Love
Martha Moore.