The downpour was laid down on the streets by a heaven of unrest and tears, like an etheral and an aural blanket.

Like an unexpected guest, the rain came down on the lazy Sunday afternoon, and without prior announcement, fell upon Orchard Road, with passer-bys weaving around vehicles quietly stationary at the lights.

I watched from within the comfort of the taxi cab; the driver tapped a finger on the wheel and exhaled his frustration heavily. The meter ticked on as we sat idle in the gridlock. We moved inches at a time.

The precipitation that has gathered into a pool on the tar roads has risen to a noticeable level; like a bubbling brook, the current flowed rapidly downstream of the imperfectly-finished road, disturbed frequently by the wheels of the cars that were making a left from us.

I looked up, as though I could see you. But surely I was feeling hasty. And certainly it did not matter that the heavy rain refused to cede, or that I was caught out on the day the skies cried, for in my heart – both secure and reassured – I knew that I would be seeing you that day.