Rain is just water. It does not hurt
to watch the drops trickle down the glass.
I still remember when, out of disposable moments,
arose your promise to watch “Det sjunde inseglet”
if I explained to you the word “yuck”,
polite but casual. Or when I ran down the stairs
like an escape master, the self-proclaimed hero
of endless grumbling at broken lifts,
and you just kissed my cheek,
wishing me that one day it would come in handy,
that glass of water next to my bed.
hidden pilcrow 