state of grace - taylor swift
the rain is an old lover of mine.
he's teasing, a little cruel, he's as in love with himself as he is with me. he's the gold and silver in the word mercurial, and he says my name like a whisper, tastes it on his tongue like it's dripping honey, he says he fills the cracks in all broken things. maybe that's why my heart's overflowing with rain, maybe that's why he said it with a knowing smile. but my favourite thing about him is his unpredictability, unpredictable in the way his gaze is sometimes calm, a quiet before a storm, he's steady, he'll be the warmth at my back, other times he is the storm, when he climbs my bedroom window, his grin a half-wild thing, dark blue eyes flashing, roiling waves and piercing winds, that's what he feels like.
and then june comes sweeping along, and he turns into the rainwater mixing with my tears, and his lashes are always wet, his hair is always half-dry, messy, and when he touches me, i turn into a storm, too. he swallows hard when i wipe the drop sliding down his throat with a careless thumb, and he tells me, he tells me, "today, i heard someone call love a game," and i ask, "do you agree?" and he shakes his head and says pointedly, "games can't be played when you've already lost," and his gaze is piercing when he says it, when he looks at me, like he wants me to understand, wants me to say something that will make him catch his breath, but i ask him what he means anyway, because i want him to say it. his heart pounds under my fingers, but his blue, blue eyes are cool when he tells me lost things can't be found anyway. i know he's talking about his heart. how do i tell him i hold it carefully with reverent fingers? i have his heart in my hands and he has me wrapped around his finger like a ring, like a promise. a promise. that's how he loves me, like a broken promise, the only things holding me together are his words and that quick beat of his heart, the last strings holding me together, and the rain filling in my cracks.
when i walk on the cobblestones, wet and gleaming in evening lights, i see my face reflected in puddles and drops, all of them him, and when he falls with light touches to my hair, my mouth, my neck, he clings to me and holds me close, like he'll fade away if he doesn't. games can't be played when you've already lost, but he plays them anyway, dangerous ones, reckless and wild until the end, until he turns into rainfall and becomes everyone's and no one's all at once, and i wait. i wait for the drops on my bedroom window to stop sliding down, wait for the careless crashing of the winds to cease, cease because there he is now, a devil-may-care smile tilting his mouth up because he knows saints run away from the rain, and they hide under shingles and stones and domes, and i stand here, stand under the sky, rain clinging to me, every bit the sinner, breaking rules until i fall apart and he fills up my heart again, drop by drop, blink by blink, and this is what real heaven feels like. this is what real recklessness makes you, what rain does to you, because here i am. here i am, a saint and a sinner and neither at once.