Even now I couldn’t tell you what caught my eye about her. She had chocolate hair; not raven or shimmering gold. I didn’t see her eye color or her smile. Her shirt was white and maybe subconsciously I realized she wasn't wearing a rain jacket but even that I question. Even that I doubt. I feel deep in my bones it was something else entirely.
Because all I really remember now is the way the raindrops danced on her skin. Across her collarbone.
She was waiting for the streetcar and, thinking back, maybe it was her inertia in the driving rain that caught my attention - I don't honestly know - but it was those raindrops, that collarbone that kept it. I think my breath caught when I looked up from my laptop and there she was with her skin on display.
Sure her shirt was soaked through and I’d be lying if I said I didn't look lower, hoping that rosy disks and hard nipples would contrast against the damp fabric on her chest. But my eyes always traveled back to her collarbone. My imagination ran wild with the idea of licking those raindrops off her. Letting my lips skate over that goose bumped skin. Somehow those goosebumps made it all that more appealing, like my warm breath against those cool tracks would somehow make them even more bewitching than they already were.
I snapped the picture but it will never compare to the image seared into my memory. That perfect, pristine moment when rain stopped to linger on her skin and she stopped to linger in front of me. When time stopped so I could watch rain pool in the dips and hollows of her bones. When my imagination soared and I could feel and taste and touch that skin as if my lips really were at liberty to feel and taste and touch…
The streetcar came. Time started up again. The rain stopped. But that moment, those raindrops, will live with me, breathe with me, beat with me.