Sixteen
It was raining. The hard foreign drops hit my black jacket and bare head
as we walked up the slick paved mountain road,
traveling as far away from the crash of waves
and the call of tourist shops as humanly possible. It was hard to breathe,
my lungs laboring with the added weight of thinner air to its
already mucous filled lobes. But I continued walking, passing signs I did not understand
not wanting to deny the feeling of exploration pervading the
air with every sharp painful breath.
Postcard pictures sprung to life before my eyes as
the thump of the rain became the soundtrack of
The moment.
A brown bridge rickety with age spanned a long winding, for lack of a
Better term, brook . It was too big to be called a creek but too small for a river.
Stone stairs crumbling with age and erosion shook under
My feet as I descended to the classic bridge. Any other time, I would have feared for my life, but the odd sense of romance permeating the air
Made me invincible.
On the other side, we continued walking climbing higher and higher as the rain
Fell harder than ever. As we passed a corner, he pulled me into a crevice
In the mountain. One of those that only have space for two people and only really
appear in countries that don’t exist, in movies that aren’t real. And there in the moss
And the trash and the odd bug or two, he kissed me. And standing on a rock Among the wheezing breaths,
The cold rain, and dusty air, that’s all that I knew.