Before there was that there were

                        Lights

                                    Kisses

                                                Thunder and rain.

I wondered at the fact that such a small child could know. “Please stop” she said to me, “you’re hurting me.”

            “What’s that?” I asked.

“The world, it’s painful.”

The rain fell down tumbling in torrents upon my windshield, the tightened shut windows and the roof. There was such a small space between us and no air, and that made it worse.

“Please stop.” She held still, and quiet. I couldn’t feel her breathe.

“Wasn’t there a time that I knew love?” she asked.

“Don’t you remember?”

There was only silence in the car.

So I told her a story. It started with a boy who never wanted to go to school. He never wanted to be anything but a writer. And so he lied where he could to write and he lied where he could so the world wouldn’t hurt. And so he never worked because working wasn’t writing and he never saw anyone who didn’t help him. And he never sent out his words because he didn’t want to hear such words like “no”. And so he sat at home and ate sandwiches when he could buy them and ate nothing when he could not. And after some time he said out loud to his lamps and his table and his carpet and his couch that he was a writer, because no one else ever did.

I asked her what she thought.

She sat for a while while the rain held its ground and we lost.

Then after a while she said, “didn’t he have any friends?”

And I said no, because people didn’t like him. Or he thought so, because life told him so, or so he thought.

“That’s sad” she said. A tear dropped from her eye and she reached out for my hand.

I held it in my palm and it was so small and tiny. There were bits of green and blue and gold, like a river holding slight treasure.

“It is sad.” I said, “and that’s also true.”

“Was it painful for him?” she wanted to know. “Like us?” she asked.

“Just like us.” I told her. “Just like us.”

“Why don’t we give up?” she asked me.

“For what?” I replied

And her body became light and her outline began to shine and fade and travel onto mine. She was next to me then onto me then we snapped together like pieces of a puzzle and I heard her voice inside me.

“Before there was this there were lights, kisses, thunder and rain” she shook my bones in remembrance. “Don’t you recall?” She pleaded. There was a flash of bright light and for a moment I thought—but it was gone.

“Yes--” I whispered, alone in the car, the dark everywhere and the rain. “--And now there’s this.”