Astraphobia - the fear of storms

There are tears in his autumn eyes. I remember looking into them, gold and green, and imagining slowly floating down an idle river watching the canopy of golden fall leaves in trees, unimaginably tall, as I drift by. My daydream is over, it’s going to rain.

‘Don’t go,’ he whispers. My name is like a swollen cut on his lips.

Don’t go. The words echo in my ears even now.

‘I have to.’

There is a storm brewing. Grumbling clouds are rolling over the horizon, heavily laden with unfallen rain.  The wind is picking up. Leaves skitter over the asphalt. I feel his arm on my wrist.

‘Why? Why do you have to go?’ I let his question hang in the air, as heavy as the clouds converging above us.

Lightning flashes. The air smells like earth anticipating rain.

I look up at him, gravity weighty on my heart. there is  no way to explain that no reason to stay is every reason to go.

The clouds break, a million teardrops all at once. A million echoes.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.