I love the rain. I love it more than my friends. I love it more than my family. I love it more than I love my own sorry life.

It hasn’t always been this way. I used to hate it; rain meant darkness and sadness to me before, but that was before he left me. He was perfect; I loved everything about him, from his ocean blue eyes to his signature half-smile to his russet hair. He was my everything. He was my first kiss, my first love. He was my Prince Charming. Then, one day, he was lost.

The day had started off relatively well. The weather was warm and sunny, so he took me out to the fair. We spent a few hours there, and just before the sun went down, someone called him and told him his mother was in the hospital. He brought me home immediately and then drove off too see his mother.

Later that night, his mother called me.

“Have you seen my son?” she asked, sounding a little worried. I laughed inside. He was such a momma’s boy.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital?” I asked her.

“I was, but I’m home now. Have you seen my son?”

“He said he was going to see you. He never went?” I asked, the smile falling from my face.

“He never came,” she replied. I dropped the phone, in complete shock. When I picked it up, his mother had already hung up. I dialed his cell phone, but he didn’t pick it up. I stayed up all night, hoping and praying that he would call back. He never did.

The next day, some people from around town formed a search party. At first, our frantic search yielded no response, but after endless hours, we found his car at the bottom of a trench on the side of the road. It was reduced to nothing more than a mangled pile of metal. We hoped and prayed that he would somehow get out alive. After all, who ever heard of Prince Charming dying? We were just being naïve.

We later discovered what actually happened. He was taking a curve too fast and careened off the road into the trench. The car flipped several times. If it weren’t for the fact that his neck snapped, he would have survived. His body was virtually untouched. I almost wished that his body had been mangled; then I wouldn’t have to look at his perfect, unmoving features at his funeral.

I walked up to the casket already crying. It was sunny outside, still. Bad things weren’t supposed to happen on sunny days. Yet, there he was, lying in a box. His eyes were closed, and I cried knowing that I would never get to look at them again. I stroked his russet hair. It felt the same way it had on that day at the carnival. I looked at his mouth for some trace of his famous half-smile, but there was none. He looked like he was asleep, and I shook his shoulder, just to make sure. He didn’t move, and I didn’t expect him to. The entire funeral, I could think of nothing but his cold, unmoving body. I still can think of nothing else.

He’s the reason I now love the rain. For when the rain runs my mascara, no one can tell I’m crying.