I don’t know what it means to be infinite. It was sunny outside yesterday. The type of blue-sky sunshine that looks like it will last forever. I really hoped it would last, too. I woke up to clouds this morning, but I ignored them. Yesterday, it seemed as if the sun would shine forever, so maybe if I dressed for sun, it would appear for me. My plan almost worked. I walked to the Park. I played around in the summer heat. I pretended there was no such thing as humidity. It wasn’t until I was at dinner that the rain started to fall.



One hasn’t experienced San Fran until she’s walked through its gray streets for twenty blocks in the pouring rain. I was on 49th when the downpour began. I had no umbrella, no hood, no escape plan. All I could do was grab your hand and face the world that only just a couple hours prior had welcomed Frisbee catches and ice cream cones. I clenched onto you for dear life, as if I were the Wicked Witch, and your skin could save me from melting. As we weaved from one stranger’s umbrella to the next, I looked down at my clothes. A blue and white shirt that was tied at the bottom. Short plaid skirt. Cloth shoes worn without socks. It was sunny outside yesterday. I missed the sun.



When the thunder crashed, you tightened your grip on my hand. “Jesus Christ” you whispered under your breath, as if he could hear you, as if it were he that caused the clap from above.

We stopped for a moment to appreciate the residual noise. When thunder cracks, it sounds like it will last forever, but even the echo shortly fades. Eventually you realized how tightly you were holding onto my hand, and you let go altogether. You are not afraid of rain. You are not a lightning rod. The storm cannot hurt you.



I trailed slightly behind until we met up at the corner. I immediately grabbed your hand again and squeezed. I am not afraid of rain, I am afraid of separation. Yesterday, I thought the sun would shine forever. Today I am dodging lightening bolts. You squeezed my hand back and leaned in to kiss me. “Check”, you said as our lips parted, as if you had just fulfilled my Notebook fantasy.



“This isn’t the first time we’ve kissed in the rain,” I reminded you.



“So?” you asked. “I’ve heard thunder a thousand times before, but it still makes my heart race.”



I kissed you a lot after we got home. I kissed your cheek, your mouth, your forehead. Every time my lips left your body, they swooped back in for more. If I am not touching you, you can disappear, just like the sun did.



When we woke up the next morning, it was sunny again. Last night I could have sworn the storm would last forever, but even clouds run out of water. Even the sun will die one day. I kissed you a lot this morning. No kiss lasted forever, but every one made my heart race just the same.

I still don’t know what it means to be infinite. Maybe there’s no such thing. I just wish I could kiss you until infinity, even if we get caught in the rain.