Don’t think I haven’t been faithful or even happy. Because I have. All I’m trying to say is that I’ve never been able to love my wife with my whole heart.
When I was eighteen, I went out into a field during the rain. I danced, splashing in the mud. There was a girl walking through the tall grass and singing a sad, slow song. And she kissed me once before going on her way. When the rain was gone, so was she.
I loved her.
But I never saw her again. A month later I met the woman who would be my wife. She came like a ray of sunshine and illuminated all of the dark recesses of my heart. It was in her that I first knew myself, and her warmth helped me accept all of the wild shadows I had never realized were inside of me. She was comfort and stability.
We were happy. We have always been happy together.
But whenever it rains, I remember that kiss beneath the clouds. I remember the taste and rhythm of untamed passion that fell into my life. And for a moment, my wife does not have all my love.
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Story by Gregory M. Fox
from A Breath of Fiction’s archives
originally published November 4, 2010