If You Call It Love

I was never a fan of the rains and neither did i ever took joy in dancing in it but every time it down poured in our neighborhood I  would secretly sneak from the windows and look at  the park nearby. Everytime it rained i could see her, dancing and jumping , splashing the water accumulated in the small craters  to great heights. Holding the frills that decorated the near end of her cute little frock she would dance in circles. With every pitter patter you could listen to her melodious laughs. Her jet black hairs, now totally drenched in the rain would fall over her face  in almost a poetic & artistic manner, making her look even more exotic & angelic. I could catch a glimpse of her only when it rained, many times did  i try to search her but all in vain. She seemed to be tailor made only to dance in the rain, as if she owed her entire existence to it.

I have moved out from that neighbourhood now but even after all these years I think of her. An engima she was to me and shall always continue to be.


this post has been written for five sentence fiction with the prompt word rain