the rain splashes heavily as she walks, but its effect is nothing compared to the vibrations caused by the impact of her feet in the puddles. the pools of water make way for her delicate shoes and heavy stomps, feinting sideways before rushing to reconnect, only to be separated again by the next set of steps that come along. she skirts around the deep puddles with the belief that the extra effort will affect the outcome somehow; as if in the end, when she reaches her destination, she will have benefitted slightly more than if she had collided with the puddle head-on. pulling her coat closer to her, the pouring rain triggers a memory. it’s a fabricated memory of a false moment that many people share, and as cliched as it is, it resonates in her mind. it’s the one where the whole screen is grey and both of them are soaked and she’s walking away while he’s pulling up the boat. and she tries to keep walking, but everything around her fills her with uncontainable emotion and suddenly she turns around, tears mixing with the rain, unable to compose herself any longer and asks, no, explodes “why?” he had a reasonable answer, and in a perfect world where everything fits, it seems possible to discern that something was “meant to be.” but what about in our world, outside the silver screen, where you haven’t figured out the ending, and the question “why” doesn’t necessarily result in an answer you want to hear? what about in our world, when you’re not even sure if something is “meant to be”? she closes the door behind her and shrugs off her coat and pulls herself out of her reverie. a few wet footprints later she concludes that perhaps there is no such thing. that perhaps something that seemed like it was “meant to be” in retrospect will seem relatively insignificant. and that perhaps what she’s holding on to is the idea of him rather than the reality.