Rain
Sitting alone in the rain is an odd thing to do, but it hides a lot.
Remember when you thought rain was romantic, nestling together, sharing a single coat, listening to raindrops rattle on fabric and flagstones, scarcely feeling the wet?
Now you’re huddled on a bench, swathed in dripping gaberdine, hands clenched tight stuffed in pockets, forcing the rain away. Somehow.
But it falls. And keeps falling. And slowly washes and cleans your memory.
It wasn’t so important after all. No need for penance. You rise, walk home, and forget to make that call. Frozen pizza for dinner, a can of beer, and a sitcom. And all gone.