it out.
The ink had faded.
To my Rain Kite…
I stared at the words.
Then the memory came back so suddenly I had to sit down.
Our third date.
A summer storm at the park.
A little boy crying because the kite he had made in art class kept collapsing in the rain. Robert had suggested we run for the car. I had kicked off my shoes, taken the soggy string, and helped continue reading …
